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BLACK MAMMY: 



A SONG OF THE SUNNY SOUTH, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



HV \VlI. 1,1AM LiGHTFOOT \'lSSCIIlil<, LL. B. 



SECOND ILLUSTRATED EDITION. 



Pour passer le temps. 



CHEYENNE, WYO. : 

liKISTOL .V KXARE, PRINTERS AXD HINDERS. 

1886. 






Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1885, 

By WILL L. VISSCHER, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




^^ c " 



1'^- 



this volume is affectionately inscribed to my 
Darling Little Daughter. 

Viva Gleh Visscher, 

WITH THE HOPE THAT SHE MAY SOME TIME WRITE 
A MUCH BETTER BOOK. 



Author's Introdlction. 

During a period of more than twenty-five years, while 
the author of this volume was engaged in the duties of 
soldier, journalist or actor, he has, now and then, written 
something which friends have, been kind enough to call 
jioctry. From a mass of such of this as he had at hand, 
he has made the selection here presented, and asks for it 
a kindly and forbearing consideration at the hands of a 
generous public. 

Will L. Vlsscher. 
Denver, Colorado, Feb. 9th, 1885. 



Introductiox to Skcom) Edition. 

As the first edition of this book was exhausted within 
a very few weeks after its publication, the second one is 
ofiered with a hope that it will be exhausted in even less 
time, for T am anxious to exhibit the fact that I can stand 
the exhaustion with as much fortitude as the public can. 

Gratefully, 

Will L. Visscher. 
Cheyenne, Wyo. Feb. 26th, 18S6. 



CONTENTS. 

• 

BLACK MAMMY. 

Canto I. - - - - - 9 

Canto II. - - - - 25 

Canto III. - - - 55 

MY VILLAGE HOME - - - 70 

A MODERN TEMPLE ... 80 

WAR WAIFS. 

Grant's Return . . . - 89 

'Tis More than All - - 98 

Satisfaction . . . . 90^ 

When We Forget . . - 102 

Grant ----- 107 

Marching On - - - 109 

Filii Veteranoruni - - - 112 

Mj Comrade with a Crown - - 114 

DIALECT POEMS. 

International - - - - 118 

Sorry for the Lord - - - 125 

Julej Ann - - - - 126 

Aunt Chloe's Creed - - - 128 

Some Singin' - - - - 130 

Jube's Old Yaller Dog - - 131 

The Tenderfoot - - - - 134 

Red Checks - - - - 138 

The Little Shoe - - - - 141 



6 Contents. 

Pilire. 

MINOR POEMS. 

No Words Can Tell - - - t+5 

The National Rotunda - - - 146 

Gypsy - - - - 151 

Babv's Morning - - - - 153 

Coming - - - - 154 

Mount of the Holy Cross - - 157 

Three Lights - - - - 158 

Watch Night - - - - 161 

Alere Flammam - - - 164 

The Quaker Poet - - - - 167 

The Sa^ngerfest - - - 169 

The Workman's Way - - - 170 

A Memory and a Tear - - 172 

The Immersion - - - - 176 

Between the Oak and El^jii - - 178 

Twenty Years Ago - - - 181 

Awake the Harp - - - 183 

The Gourd beside the Spring - - 18:^ 

Paradox - - - - 187 

Recompense .... i(^ 
Tot's Bit 

Love's Agony . - . . 
Three Wishes 

Impromptu - - - - 195 

The Silver Grays - - - i(^6 

The Old Log Church - - - 198 

A Miner's Memory - - - 200 

Tot's Telegraph - - - . 201 

Kitty Coyle - . . . 203 

Ita Est - - - - - 201^ 

A Fantasy . - . . 206 



191 

193 
194 



Contents. 7 

L'Amoiir - . \ . . . 208 

Ben Leland . . . . 209 

Daj Dreams - - - - 211 

Come Dreams - - - 213 

A Dream - - - - - 214 

HUMOROUS RHYMES. 

Edgar Willis Nye - - - . 219 

O'Keefe of Pike's Peak - - - 220 

No! No! No! - - - 221 

Hannah McGlue . - . . 223 

A Skimmer . . . . 224 

Out West - - - - 226 

Mv Girl ... - 227 

Well, Rather - - - - 228 

Epigrams .... 230 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Pag-e. 

Author's Portrait - - - Frontispiece. 

With Rhyme and Music - - - 12 

The Noontide Nap - - - . 24 

Maniinv - - . _ . ^2 

The Holiday ----- c,a 

The Old Home - - . . . 5^ 



Where Oft I'd Lingered 



Geraldine 



Tot 



73 



'Twixt the Hills - - - . . 76 

The Churchyard .... ^3 

A Modern Temple - - - _ So 

The Golden Gate - . . . 88 

Gen. Grant {Portrait^ - . . . iq6 

Old Jube ----- j-^2 

The Little Shoe - - - - , - 141 



144 



Gypsy --.-.. i^j 

Mount of the Holy Cross - - - 156 

John G. Whittier {Portrait) - - - 166 

Twenty Years Ago . - . . igo 

The Spring ----- 185 



191 



Westward - - - . . xq6 

Old Log Churjch - - . . j^s 

The'Moon Path - - . . . 306 

A Baby Boy - - - - - 212 

M\\\^\Q {Portrait) - - - - 218 



BLACK MAMMY, 

A Song of the Sunny South. 



H 



CANTO FIRST. 

APOSTROPHE. 

UX/JARP of the North," the Wizard sang, 

And tuned his glowing lays 
'Mid gallant deeds and battle's clang 

And clan to clan's affrays. 
Could I but sing so sweet a song— 

And strong — as Scotia's bard, 
I'd ring the charge of every wrong 

Till tyranny set guard; 
More fit, for me, a sweet refrain 

Of home and long ago. 

Harp of the South, 1 strike again 
The dear, old, quaint banjo. 



10 BLACK MAMMY, 

No organ's diapason swell, 

In grand cathedral, dim, 
E'er on the heart of novice fell, 

In vesper's sacred hymn, 
With more impress of love and soul, 

And deep devotion true. 
Than Southern song to mem'ry's goal 

Are borne, my harp, by you. 



THE SPINNING WHEEL. 

And now I sing to the banjo ring. 

In song by memory led, 
And hear a sound like whispers round 
The grave of the Past, long dead: 
'Tis a whir and a hum. 
And a doleful thrum. 
But music heart can feel — 
I hear as before. 
In days of yore. 
Black mammy's spinning wheel. 



BLA CK MAMMY, 1 1 

It brings me joy, as when a boy 

I sat in her cabin door, 
And heard her sing to the spindle's ring, 
As she paced the "puncheon" floor; 

From the dawn to the gloam, 

In the old South home, 
A mammy, black and leal, 

She trudged to and fro, 

In the long ago, 
And wrought at her spinning wheel. 

How blest the da3^s, how sweet the ways. 

That Kate and I saw then — 
My sister Kate, whom God and fate, 
Have taken to His Aidenn. 

Now 'neath the orange trees, 

Kissed by each balmy breeze 
That thro' magnolias steal, 

Under the bloom 

Lies Katie's tomb, 
And still's the spinning wheel. 




-#ft 






f 






BLACK MAMMY. 13 



I. 



A MEMORY. 

Come, sit beside me, daughter mine; 
Where vines of honey-suckle twine, 
And in a simple way I'll tell. 
With rhyme and music, how befell 
The story of a grandame, who 
Now rests beneath a southern yew. 
Her blood was from dark Afric's race. 
And black her good and kindly face; 
Her heart was pure, and strong and free. 
And, she it was who swaddled me; 
An infant on her breast I lay. 
And at her knee I learned to say, 
That "now I lay me doNvn to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep." 
A foster mother— mammy dear — 
And loving as your mother here. 
The twanging of the banjo's strings, 
To recollection softly brings 
The times and scenes, of those blest days, 



14- BLACK MAMMY. 

Of honor's prime and gen'rous ways, 
That marked the home of bloom and sun 
Before the war's dark work begun; 
Before the fields were ribbed and scarred, 
And battle trenches marked and marred, 
And wrinkled o'er with ruthless hand, 
The face of that my native land. 

II. 

T see the fires blazing bright 
That lit the "quarters," when at night, 
The slaves returned from teeming field, 
Their tributes to King Momus yield; 
Some dance the happy hours away 
To tamborine and banjo play. 
While others chant the "Jawbone" song 
In darkey patois, queer and strong. 
And some discuss the goodly cheer. 
Sent by "Old Mistiss," held so dear; 
Contentment rules, with guileless glee, 
x\ synonym, for them, of "free," 
Their liberty was greater then 



BLACK MAMMY, 15 

Than that of man}^ "hired men," 

Whose very vote, in truth, belongs 

Within the pittance and the thongs 

That bind them to the "nabob's" wheels — 

A master who no pity feels. 

But leaves the poor to feed its sick, 

And gives the needy but a kick. 

The slave knew not the thought of care, 

But knew that shelter, food and wear, 

Were sure to come as night and day, 

And thus he jogged his happy way. 

III. 
I see Sis Tabb's red-turbaned head, 
And hear her say, "You eats white bread — - 
You coal-black sinnahs, here to-night — 
But mind you's out wid mawnin's Hght; 
De pusley's growin' in de cawn. 
An' when de roostah blow his hawn 
Be out at work, yo' level bes'. 
And 'arn it when de rain brings res'." 
In great authority she's grown, 



1 6 BLACK AIAAIMr, 

Since children, white, beside her own, 

Have been consi^jned to her command 

And learned her slipper and her hand. 

Those times are gone, and Jube, at last, 

An aged soul, comes moving past; 

His head is white as driven snow. 

His manly form is bending low; 

He was "Black Mammy's" good "old man" 

And brother of his "Uncle Dan." 

Since "Freedom" came, hard times' deep plows 

Have furrowed both their dusky brows. 

And one bewails his long since dead, 

The other pleads for crusts of bread — 

List to the banjo's plaintive strings 

And hear the dirge old Juba sings : 

IV. 

SIS TABB. 

'Way down by de Yazoo rivah, 

At home whar I was bawn. 
An' whar I spent my younger da^^s, 

'Mong cotton an' de cawn. 



BLACK MAMMY. 17 

I used to hab a good ole wife, 

De white folks call Sis Tabb, 
But now she's lyin' underneath 
A cold, gray, granite slab. 
An' I want to see de place 

Whar ole Sis Tabb is laid, 
Down by de Yazoo rivah, 

Whar de posies bloom and fade. 

Many's de time, when Jube was sick, 

An' couldn' hoi' his row, 
Sis Tabb retch out an' holp a hill, 

Wid her own long-handled hoe; 
Many's de night, in 'possum time. 

When de woods was turnin drab, 
Ise brung dem file-tail roamers home. 
Fur good old Aunt Sis Tabb. 

Ise roamed aroun' a right smart chance, 
An' had some friends thoo life, 

But none was good and kind and true, 
Like dat my po' ole wife; 



1 8 BLA CK MA MM 2^. 

No kinder pusson evah lived, 

An' earth will nevah hab 
A warmer heart or better soul, 

Dan good ole Aunt Sis Tabb. 

V. 

Thus Juba chants his w^ail to-day, 
And Dan comes limping 'long the way; 
He knows me not, his weakened sight 
Is tender in the glare of light. 
The poor old darkey's dappled e^^es 
Have hindered him the glad surprise — 
The mighty joy — could he but trace 
In features mine, "young marster's" face; 
He leans upon his crooked cane. 
With hat in hand, to thus complain : 

VI. 

OLD BLACK DAN. 

* 

Fm a po' ole niggah man 
An' my name is Uncle Dan; 



BLACK MAMMY, ig 

I am well nigh onto three sco' years an' ten; 
I'm fur along de way, 
Nigh de stoppin' place dey say, 

An' I'm weak, an' feeble too, you kin depen'. 

Den give de ole man a mite, 
J is fur to buy a little bite. 
Fur I'm hawngry to de co'. 
An' de wolf am at de do'. 
An' I'm mighty feared he's gwine to mosey in. 

Jis a little while ago 

I could sling de ax an' hoe — 

'Deed an' trufe I was a mighty likely man, 
But time has bar'd my crown, 
An' it's bent me to'ads de groun', 

An' dars monst'ous little lef of Uncle Dan. 

'Deed I used to hoe de cawn 
Fur ole marster, dead an' gone. 
An' he hilt me up de leader of his ban'. 
But now he's gone away, 



20 BLACK MAMMY. 

To a better Ian', I pray, 
Whar I trus' he's gwine to meet his niggah Dan. 

VII. 
These poor souls were actors through 
The story I shall sing for you. 
In rhyme of heartfelt, homely flow, 
A story of the long ago; 
To give a glimpse of sunny days. 
Along the flower-bordered ways; 
In grassy fields and bowered nooks; 
Beside the streams and crystal brooks; 
Beneath the grand magnolia's shade; 
'Mid perfume by its flowers made, 
That laden gratefully the breeze; 
And where the stillicide of bees 
Was heard, in deep and drowsy hum, 
Like strutting peacock's muffled thrum; 
Where uncaged birds sang high in air, 
And all was bright and fresh and fair, 
Beneath the blue and ether dome 
That arched a happy South-land home. 



BLACK MAM Ml 



21 



Round such a picture, such a scene, 
Where "mammy" reigned, a dusky queen, 
'Mid graceful girls and manly boys. 
Who gave her care, or brimmed her joys, 
I'd twine, of song, a garland sweet. 
And beg to lay it at thy feet. 




CANTO 



CANTO SECOND. 
I. 

DOWN SOUTH. 

>"7"IS summer in the quiet land of bloom, 
vD 'Neath skies that winter never knew ; 
In forests deep the dusky cypress plume 

Nods where the wild-vine tendrils clew 
Among the humbler growth, beneath the shade 

Of centuried and hoary oaks, 
And where the rainbow-tinted sunbeams fade, 

Under the long and trailing cloaks. 
Of mosses, bannered to the lofty boughs. 

That weave a close and leafy screen 
For nooks where fly-begoaded cattle browse. 

In covers cool, of grateful green. 

II. 

Before the facade of the deep, dark wood. 
The fallow-fields and pastures lie. 

And ripening harvests, teeming, rich and good. 
Give pleasing promise to the eye. 



26 BL A CK MA MMT. 

Among the china and the orange trees, 

And flowers of myriad dye, 
And jasmine vines, that in each bahri}^ breeze 

Their gay and golden showers fly, 
There stands, with open doors, a planter's home, 

And stillness reigns about its halls. 
Except the sound of bees around the comb, 

Or ring-dove's low and distant calls. 

III. 

The sunflower droops in comely grace 

Befoie the day-king's fervid rays — 
A Cl3'tie fair, who bends her modest face 

Beneath Apollo's ardent gaze. 
A shimmering haze is in the an', 

The mocking bird his riot stills. 
The river glints beneath the sun's fierce glare. 

And mists hang o'er the far-ofl hills. 
The pigeons croon beneath the eaving-frieze, 

A kitten sleeps in "mammy's" lap. 
And in a hammock, swung betwixt two trees, 

"Old marster" takes his noon-tide nap. 



BLACK MAMMY. 27 

IV. 

THE STRANGER. 

'Twas hazy, dreamy summer time 

In Mississippi's ardent clime, 

And I had wandered gladly back 

From war and desolation's track, 

And years of toil in fortune's hunt; 

Bescarred before the battle's brunt; 

Had wandered back, gray-haired and lame, 

To that old home from whence I came. 

Near two-score years before, a lad 

Of lightsome step, and spirits mad 

With wild ambition, but to wield 

A gleaming blade on vict'ry's field, 

And bear the Southern banner through 

The broken ranks of hostile blue. 

I met a grim and stubborn foe. 

And saw my cherished cause laid low ; 

I fell amid a rain of balls. 

And 'woke within a prison's walls. 

I've lived the dear "Lost Cause" to weep. 

And joyed to see the trouble sleep; 



28 BLACK MAMMY. 

I live to praise the God above — 
The God of Peace, and Home, and Love- 
That now our land is One, and Free, 
And pray that thus 'twill ever be. 

V. 

Capricious fortune could not foil 

The just reward of worthy toil; 

So there, within the well-known ^ates — - 

Despite the Furies and the Fates — 

I stood upon the shaded lawn. 

Beside the grave of years agone. 

A man of wrinkles, but of wealth. 

In gold, and gear, and ruddy health. 

My father's sire dozed his nap. 

The kitten slept in mammy's lap. 

The pigeons crooned beneath the eaves, 

The zephyrs played among the leaves. 

And on the breezes, borne along. 

Came faint the ring-doves' cooing song. 

Till "marster" woke, I thought the while 

"Black mammy's" gossip to beguile. 



BLACK MAMMY. 2^ 

A safe incognito was mine, 

In beard, and hair, and furrowed line. 

That Time had lent me from his stall 

To freely clothe myself withal. 

I laughed and cried, to hear her tell 

Afresh the tale I knew so well — 

Forebore to hug the dear old soul 

Till she had reached her story's goal. 

mammy's story. 
Yo' mos' o-be jent, sah; hit's true - 
Dis place is known, sah, ez Ladue — 

De fines' on de rivah; 
An' dat's ole marster dar, asleep; 
I wouldn't wake him for a heap — - 

He's sich a reg'lar livah. 

But ef you'd seat yo'se'f a bit. 
Do' Ise no comp'ny dat is fit 

To ontertain you well, sah, 
I'll do my bes' tell marster wakes — - 
And dat I knows fur sartain sakes, 

Is wid de dinnah-bell, sah. 



JO BLACK MAMMY. 

Yes, sah, he's livin' here alone, 
Asceptin' color like my own; 

Ole mis' is gone to glory. 
An' all de yuthers dey's away, 
But not fur good, er gwine to sta}' — 

An' dar-by hangs a story; 

Ole marse an' mis', dey had a son — 
Marse Luther, jis an on'y one — 

An' also one sweet darter; 
Marse Luther married; den he died. 
An' his po' wife — jis' seem she tried- 
Lay 'side him shortly arter. 

She lef a lovely par of twins, 
An' jis' as like as two new pins, 

Asceptin' — is you Hs'nin'? — 
Dat one wuz gal and one wuz boy; 
Miss Genevieve and Marster Roy 

Dey named 'em at de chris'nin'. 

Ole marster's darter runned away, 
An' f'um dat awful, tryin' day. 



BLACK MAMMl. 31 

Ole mis' she tuck to sinkin', 
An' 'twarn't but jes' a few months mo' 
She stood upon de Jordan sho', 

From golden cups a-drinkin'. 

'Twas on a Sunday mistiss went; 
It 'peared de angel hos' wuz sent 

To take her up to heaven, 
Dat one day, when de gates up dar 
Is standin' open, wide ajar — 

De bes' day in de seven. 

De fac', it wuz, dat po' Miss Sue 
She loved beneath what Marse Ladue 

Wuz thinkin' wuz her ekal; 
An' so she 'loped, one rainy night. 
An' evah sence wuz lost to sight. 

Sah? Yes, sah, dat's de sekal. 

I'd nussed Marse Luther and Miss Sue, 
An' den I tuck Marse Luther's two; 

Now, bless yo' life. Miss Veevey 
Has got some six; an' when dey's here 



J 2 BLACK iMAMMT, 

Dey makes ole mammy jump, s'vere — 
You jis' had better b'lieve me! 

Well, arter young Marse Luther died, 
His wife a-layin' by his side. 

An' po' Miss Sue elopin', 
An' mistiss ridin' Jordan's wave, 
Ole marster's life wuz hard to save — 

De doctors guv up hopin'. 

But, bless yo' life, he stood it all; 
De angel stopped his bugle-call. 

An' marster's still among us; 
An' sence dat time he's strong an' well, 
An' nothin' but de Lawd could tell 

De happiness he's brung us. 

So things went on, year arter year, 

An' all wuz smooth and prosp'rous here; 

De cullud folks increasin; 
De cawn crap an' de cotton bale 
W.uz sho', an' nevah known to fail, 

An' blessin's wuz onceasin'. 



BLACK MAMMY. 33 

An' jes' to cap de stack of joy, 
Dar cum along anuther boy, 

One blessed day like dis'n ; 
I think de angels ovah dar 
Mus' be'n a-singin' in de a'r 

An' c'ressin' an' a-kissin'. 

Up f'um de hot an' dusty way 
Dat 'long de rivah levee lay, 

Dat bar'foot boy come, swingin'; 
He whistled, as he trudged along. 
Some snatches f'um a lively song 

He'd hyrd de fiel'-han's singin'. 

Up thoo de lawn an' 'twixt de trees, 
Jes' like a spring-time rivah breeze, 

Dat youngster comes a-troopin'— 
I think he had de boldes' step 
A tired infant evah kep', 

An' nary bit er droopin'. 

Den he unloosened f'um his back 

A little ole bandana pack 

—5 



34 BLACK MAMMT. 

Dat hilt his onknown treasure; 
F'um off his arm his bundle swung, 
An' on de grass hisse'f he flung, 

Full length, his little measure. 

Ole marster woke, an' quar surprise 
Jes' twinkled in his good ole eyes 

To see de youthful ranger; 
"Go fetch de lad to me," he said; 
Aunt Easter jis' w^ent right ahead 

Wid dis talk to de stranger: 

"Come here to me, you little scamp; 
I 'spec's you's nuthin but a tramp 

A-prowlin' thoo de section; 
Ole marster wants to talk wid you, 
An' sorter s'arch you thoo and thoo. 

An' give you some correction. 

I 'spec's he'll lock you up ontil 
De night am come, an' all am still; 
Den, while you quake an' shivah. 
He'll make de drivah take you out 



BLACK MAMMY, - 35 

An' give you sixty — dar about — 
An' fling you in de rivah." 

Ole Easter thought it monst'ous smart 
To give some one jis' sich a start, 

When she wuz in de humor; 
Ghos'-stories, laws! she loved to tell, 
An' all dis truck 'bout hoodoo spell, 

An' every 'sterious rumor. 

Out spoke de brave, onda'nted lad: 
"I don't believe dat he's so bad 

As you gwine try to make him; 
An' what is mo', I aint afeared" — 
Dat's what he said, for hit I heard — 

Dar warn't no skeer could shake him. 

"You's pooty spunky, little man; 
But when you's in ole marster's han 

You'll sing anudder song, sah; 
So grab you up yo' traps an' truck. 
An' pray" ole Easter say, "fur luck, 

As you is gwine along, sah." 



36 BLA CK MA MiMT. 

She led de lad to whar de fat 
An' jolly-faced ole marster sat, 

On dis yer same piazzah; 
'•I dunno whar dis chile is f'um, 
Er whv er wharfo' here he's cum, 

Er any 'skuse he has, sah." 

Den pompously, her jewty done, 
Ole Easter looks up to'ads de sun, 

As ef to tell de hour. 
Den takes de dinnah-hawn an blows 
A blast dat might er skeered de crows, 

Er brought a summer shower. 

"Well, youngster," says de kine ole man, 
"Jis tell me, ef you thinks you can, 

Yo' name, an whar you wander." 
"Mv name is Frank," de bo}^ replied: 
''Ten da^'S ago my father died, 

An' mother's Over Yonder." 

Dtin, lookin' to'ads de cl'ar, blue skies, 
De tear-drops wet his bluer eyes 



BLACK MAMMY, 37 

An' dimmed dar boyish brightness; 
Ole marster's tone got safter, too, 
While gazin' in dem eyes of blue, 

An' drapped his manner's lightness. 

"I'd like to get some work to do — 
Dat's why I come to visit you," 

De wanderer continued; 
Jis' den de ban's, who'd heard de hawn, 
Comes trapesin' in f'um out de cawn, 

Hard-handed, strong an' sinewed. 

"You see dem men?" old marster said; 
"Dey labors for dere daily bread, 

An' yit dey's well contented; 
Could you do dat, thoo all yo' days. 
An' live dere humble, drudgin' ways, 

Widout de choice repented.^" 

"One only gits what he can 'arn," 
De boy he says, "but I can I'arn 

To be a holpful man, sah; 
Jis' try me for a little while." 



38 BLACK MAMMl^, 

Dis broadened out ole marster's smile, 
Bekase he liked de ansah. 

"Come here, Sis Tabb;" dat's me; Ise here; 
An' standin' bv ole marster's cheer, 

I mos' o-be-jent waited; 
An' yit I'm here, devoted still, 
An' ready, too, to do his will 

Whenever hit is stated. 

He say: "Sis Tabb, you take dis boy. 
An' bring him up wid our Roy, 

Wid jis' de same attention; 
See dat he's fed an' neatly dressed. 
An' do in all things what is bes' — 

De res' I needn't mention." 

I tuck a likin' to de chile 

Right dar an' den; an' arter while 

I has him lookin' shinin'; 
Den guv him somepen good to eat — 
You'd tho't dat he'd be'n outen meat 

Ef you could seed him dinin'. 



BLACK MAMMY, jp 

He brung his appetite fur sho', 
An' et until he'd hold no mo' — 

An' me, laws bless you, pressin'; 
De chile wuz hawngry, dat's a fac' — 
He hadn't et fur weeks aback, 

Wuz jis what I wuz guessin'. 

I aint no reader in de books, 

But still I knowed from dat chile's looks, 

He warn't no common creature; 
He'd gentle way5 and manners sweet, 
An' 'ristocratic hands and feet, 

An' "blood" in every feature. 

He guv his little pack to me. 
To keep it safe as safe could be ; 

"My mother's Bible's in it — 
Hit's somepen I most dearly prize," 
He says, wid big tears in his eyes; 

I loved him f'um dat minit. 

I locked dat bundle safe an' soun' 
Down in a chis' dat's i'on-boun'. 



^o BLACK MAMMY, 

An' dar it stayed in res', sah, 
Tell sich a time, in arter years, 
It dried a monst'ous sight er tears. 

An' 'splained things fur de bes', sah. 

He fell right into our ways, 

An' 'twarn't so monst'ous many days 

Fo' he wuz in a station 
'Mong all de white folks on de place. 
As well as dem of our race. 

As one of de relation. 

x\n' him an' Roy an' Genevieve 

Jis' had good times, you kin believe — 

Ole marster, too, abettin'; 
Sich kyarin's-on an' rattlin' plays 
I nevah seed in my bawn days, 

An' kep' me wile a-frettin'. 

An' Juba, too — dat's my ole man — 
Him an' his brother — Uncle Dan — 

Would mix in de commotion, 
An' lead de racket, whoop an' dance, 



BLACK MAMMY, 41 

Whenever dey had half a chance — 
Distractin', to ?ny notion. 

Ise raised some chillen in my time, 
An' mos' of dem was fair to prime, 

Of white and black vocations; 
But dese wuz p'intedly de wust 
Of any dis chile evah nussed. 

Of three whole ginerations. 

Hit warn't in meanness dey wuz bad, 
But hoyden- wile an' mischuff-mad, 

An' full of fun an' capers; 
To make dem chillen walk de chalk 
An' keep in boun's — you hear me talk — 

Hit wuzn't in de papers. 

De yeahs went on, an' I tell you, 

De tricks dem chillen played, hit's true. 

You couldn't hardly thunk it; 
One time dey tuck Aunt Easter's cat, 
An' wropped it in her Sunday hat. 

An' in de rivah sunk it. 



BLACK MAMMI, 43 

Aunt Easter worried so dat — well, 
She thought "she had a hoodoo spell, 

An' so tuck down, er ailin'; 
She 'clared she knowed dat snakes an' toads 
Wuz in her legs by baskit-loads, 

An' jis' kep' on a-failin', 

Tell Frank an' Roy an' Uncle Dan 
Dey gits a monst'ous big tin pan 

An' hlls it full er vermin — 
Some iishin'-wu'ms an' harmless snakes. 
An' frogs, an' thousan'-legs an' takes 

De mess right in, a-squirmin'. 

Dey hides it onder Easter's bed, 
An' den Marse Frank he up an' said 

How he was hoodoo p'ison; 
He takes ole Easter by de ha'r. 
An' goes thoo some owdashus pra'r. 

Den brings her up a-risin'. 

An' den he makes ole Uncle Dan 
Hoi' up de things in dat ar pan 



U BLACK MAMMY. 

Befo' de eyes of Easter, 
An' make believe dey lef her lim' 
In true o-be-jence unto him, 

An' hoodoo had released her. 

'Fo' dat she b'leeved, cis sho's you bawn, 
Dat Gab'el done had blowed his hawn, 

An' she wuz sho'ly dyin'; 
Dat trick jis' kyoed her right away, 
An' 'arly on de follerin' day 

She jis' was out a-flyin'. 

Mos' evah Sunday all de ban's 
On dese an' de adj'inin' lan's 

Dat's bv dese rivahs bounded. 
Would gether 'fo' sweet Jesus' face. 
Out in de woods, in some cool place. 

To hear de gospel 'spounded. 

An' in sich times dem chillen went. 
An' allers dere svv'eet voices lent 

To holp de meetin'-singin'; 
An' even yit I think I hear 



BLACK MAMMY. 4.5 

Dem chillen's voices, bright and clear, 
All thoo de sarvice ringin'. 

De preachah, he wuz my ole man; 
De deekin, dat wuz Uncle Dan; 

An' while de folks wuz comin' 
Dese two sot on de moanah's seat, 
Mos' humble dar at Jesus' feet, 

Dis openin' hime a-hummin': 

GOOD LORD, REMEMBER ME. 

I wish dat you, my breethren true. 

Would larn dis modis' song. 
An' git it by heart, 'fo' we all part. 

An' shout it loud an' long: 

'Member de rich, an' 'member de po', 
'Member de bon' an' de free. 

An' when you done a-'memberin' aroun'. 
Den, good Lawd, 'member po' me. 

Why can't you do like Peter did, 
While a-walkin' on de sea? 



46 BLA CK MA MMT. 

He clapped his han's to his .lovin' Lawd- 
Oh, good Lawd, 'member po' me. 

Josh-u-way made de sun stan' still 
Tell de hos' of de wrong wuz slain: 

Den he went on, tightin' for de Lawd, 
x\n' prayin' for remembrance again. 

Ef I could Stan' whar Moses stood, 

An' view de landscape o', 
I'd take up wings an' fly away 

Ovah to dat milk-white siio'. 



My chillen — sho'ly de}' wuz mine — 
Growed up together, jis' as fine 

As any in de county; 
Good-hearted, han'some, strong an' brave, 
Dey holp de po', all dey could save, 

From Gran'pa's wealth an' bounty. 

Ole marster didn't stint his means, 
But sont away to New Orleans 



BLA CK MAMMY. 47 

An' got a private teachah — 
A man so good an' wise an' straight 
I allers thouo-ht he'd do fust-rate 

To make a Babtis' preachah. 

Dey larnt so much, an' growed so fas', 
Hit mad<: me sad — I knowed at las', 

An' so'ly felt de warnin', 
De}^ gwine too leave me, too, an' go 
Out in de worl' to reap an' sow. 

Some monst'ous 'arly mawnin'. 

Den one thing please me mighty well; 
One night I ovahearn Frank tell 

Miss 'Veevey how he love her; 
He talk so sweet about his love, 
An' sw'ar dat she's his turkle-dove. 

By all de stars above her, 

Hit made me smile. Ise hearn dat talk 
Mos' evah sense dat I could walk, 

Thoo all dese ginerations; 
But dat's de talk — you knows it, too — 



48 BLACK MAMMY. 

Dat holps dis world of ourn thoo, 
x\n' populates de nations. 

Den Roy he fines de secret out, 

An' raves, an' stawms, an' t'ars about, 

Mos' dre'ful, to my notion. 
An' marster p'intedly goes wile, 
An' sw'ar he gwine to shoot de chile. 

An' rages like de ocean. 

Dey rave at Frank, an' fume an' sizz. 
An' say dey dunno who he is, 

An' treat him monst'ous bad, sah; 
But Frank he kep' his tempah down- 
He even doan' so much as frown. 

But jis' look sorter sad, sah. 

An' den dey tells him, to his face, 
He done has got to leave de place; 
. An' den he look heart-broken. 
An' say he nevah could believe 
'Twuz wrong to love Miss Genevieve- 
He say it sah, outspoken. 



BLACK MAMMY, 4g 

But still he packed an' went away, 
An' jis' about de follerin' day 

Miss Genevieve wuz missin'. 
Laws bless you! Roy, an' marster, too, 
Wuz monst'ous hot; now, I X.^ yoti^ 
Dey jis' wuz fa'rly hissin'. 

An' marster sw'ar he b'lieve a cuss. 
Or somepen', maybe, dat is wuss, 

Wuz on de house a-layin, 
An' Roy, he gwine ter take a gun 
An' shoot dat Frank, 'fo' mawnin' sun — 

Dat's what he wuz a-sayin'. 

Den I comes up, an' mighty peart, 
'Kase I doan' want dem chillen hurt, 

An' say it mos' severely: 
"I b'lieve, as firm as any rock, 
Dat Frank aint f'um no common stock, 

An' b'lieve it mos' sincerely." 

Den marster look at me as cool^ 

An' say he think dat I'm a fool — 

—7 



50 BLACK MAMMT, 

In fac', he simply know it; 
He say, wid anger in his eyes, 
"Ef you's so mighty, monst'ous wise, 

Why doan' you try to show it?" 

Right dar an' den de wises' thought 
Dis po' ole niggah evah caught 

Went thoo my head a-flyin'. 
Down to de quarters, sah, I went, 
Jis' hke a doctah who wuz bent 

To see somebody dvin'. 

I busted open dat ole chis' 
An' to de bottom run my tis' 

An' dug up dat bandanner 
What Frank had guv to me befo', . 
Wid all his trinkets, years ago, 

An' shouted one hosanner; 

I dunno w^hy dat I wuz led 
To git de notion in my head. 

But I was sho' possessed, sah, 
De Bible in dat little pack 



BLACK MAMMY. 51 

Would bring dem wand'rin' chillen back 
In marster's favor dressed, sah. 

I tuck dat pack an' fa'rly flew, 

Like dese ole limbs wuz young an' new, 

An' 'stonished all dat seed me; 
Dey think Ise crazy, but I run 
Like Jacob gwine ter meet his son; 

I mosied — yes, indeedy! 

Clean outen breath, an' almos' beat, 
I flung de pack at marster's feet. 

An' Roy, he den ontied it; 
De Bible, hit wuz on de top; 
You orter seed ole marster stop 

As soon, sah, as he spied it. 

Wid trimblin' han' he tuck de book, 
i.\n' at de fus' page tuck a look, 

Den shouted "Hallalooyah!" 
He read some words dat went like dis: 
"To my dear darter, wnd a kiss," 

An' dat wuz signed "Ladue," sah! 



S2 BLACK MAAair, 

Den lower down, Miss Sue had writ, 
In her sweet way, a little bit. 

To give it to anuther: 
"To Frank, my noble little son, 
M}' darlin boy an' only one, 

From his fond, lovin' mother." 

De shootin' talk den tuck a change, 
An' Roy an' marster 'gin to 'range 

To smooth de trouble ovah. 
An' pooty soon de los' wuz foun'; 
An' when de weddin' feas' went roun' 

De darkies wuz in clovah. 

Laws bless you! sah, hit made me glad 
To see de gorjus times we had — 

Sich joy an' merrj^-makin' ; 
Ole marster p'intedly growed young. 
An' whooped an' laughed, an' danced an' sung 

But, dar, he is awakin'! 



CANTO 



CANTO THIRD. 

A PICTURE. 
I. 

^^D RIGHT boyhood time — -its holidays and 

-© toys; 

Its sorrows, great, as seen through youthful 
eyes : 

Its earnest plans, its sweet and satiate joys; 
Ah! dulcet season! how it flies, 
And then embalmed in mem'ry lies. 

II. 

"Black Mammy" held its picture up to me — 
An etching traced in lines of Hving light, 

And limned in colors lucent as the sea 

When 'neath the moonbeams soft and bright 
It shimmers in a tropic night. 



36 BLACK MAMMT. 

III. 
I caught the dear old soul within my arms; 

Embraced her with an ecstasy of joy, 
As lover would a mistress rich of charms; 

She wondered; then exclaimed, "My boy? 

God bless us ! you is Marster Roy !" 

THE HOLIDAY. 
I. 

"Ole marster" opened wide his dyes, 
That filled with ludicrous surprise. 
And hardly thought himself awake. 
To see a bearded stranger take 

Such freedom on his grounds. 
"Hit's Marster Roy!" old Mammy cried, 
And tears of joy, in welling tide, 
Flowed down her dusky, wrinkled face. 
And Grandpa gave me his embrace 

With love that knew no bounds. 

II. 

No better welcome ever ran 
To chieftain from his loyal clan. 



BLACK MAMMY, 57 

Than that which, given there to me 
Beneath my father's old roof-tree, 

Brought gladness to my heart. 
With youth my grandsire seemed anew; 
He took the dinner-horn and blew 
A mighty blast, that echoed long. 
And sudden stopped the freedmen's song. 

And gave Old Home a start. 

III. 
'Twas something strange to call the hands. 
At such a time, from off the lands — 
With loyal fear of something wrong 
To those at home, the dusky throng 

Rushed in the nearest way. 
"Ole marster" told them that his boy. 
His long-lost grandson, "Marster Roy," 
Had come to home and friends again; 
"And now," he said, "let pleasure reign — 

I give a holiday." 

IV. 

A general shout the welkin rung. 

And then the darkies danced and sung — 

—8 



^8 BLA CK MAM Ml \ 

One iri'five old minstrel tuned his shell — 
A gourd banjo — most wondrous well 

To sinof a home-made song. 
The "bis: house" furnished oroodlv cheer 
Of "white bread," jam and '"'simmon beer,' 
And, all impatient for the rh3'me, 
The folks urge Cato, "Come to time*!— 

Doan' chune de thing so long." 

V. 

BANJO SON(;. 

Has vou be'n hyrd de banjo talk? 

Choonka-ching, choonka-ching: ' 
An' see de niggah walk de chalk? 
An' see de niggah lif his feet 
To dat music, rich an' sweet? 

Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. 

Oh dat banjo — make us lif dem feet: 
Oh dat possum — good an' fat an' sweet: 
De niggah like to have a chance 
• To 'possum-hunt an' sing an' dance — 
Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. 



BLACK MAMMY. 59 

Has you be'n hyrd de drivah sw'ar? 

Choonka-ching, choonka-ching; 
An' raise de niggah's kinky ha'r? 
An' see de niggah make de hoe 
Hum along de cotting row? 

Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. 

Oh dat drivah — make us Hf dem feet; 
Oh dat cane-fiel' — big an' broad an' sweet; 
What de niggah like to shun 
Am hoein in de br'ilin' sun — 
Choonka-ching, choonka-ching. 

VI. 

When Cato's banjo song was done, 
The "jawbone talkers' " work begun. 

And wagers high, of shucking pegs, 
x\nd raven claws and rabbit legs, 

And other current pelf. 
Were laid in many an odd, queer batch 
On this most unique singing match, 
Wherein each rival, in his time. 



6o BLACK AfAAfMl^. 

Would sing, in certain tune, a rhyme, 
Invented by himself. 

VII. 

In such a contest, holding out 
The longest in the rhyming bout, 
Established high the dusk}^ bard. 
As winner, in the tierce and guard, 

Of wordy, sing-song light. 
Old Cato, Caesar, Luke and Eph 
Were of the talkers now^ the chief, 
And, judged by Jube and Uncle Dan, 
Their doggerel diversely ran 

Thus, wildly, to its height: 

VIII. 

Luke: 
Whenever I gits started in 
I talks jawbone tell hit's a sin; 
I talked jawbone from June tell June, 
An' some folks said I quit too soon. 

. Refrain — ^Ole Jaw-bone, do go home ; 
In come Jim wid a jose\' on. 



BLACK MAMMY. 6i 

C.«SAR : 

It aint no use to try to quit 
When I falls in de jawbone fit; 
I talks so long, an' talks so fas' 
I comes out winner at de las'. 

Eph: 

You works a middlin' size hockbone, 
Wid a good big chunk er hot caw^n-pone, 
Heap better dan de jawbone song; 
You hear mv sesso; <i"wdne alonof. 

Cato: 

I talked jawbone till Chris'mus come, 
An' den had jis got started some; 
So hush yo' talk an' hear me sing, 
An' make de banjo fa'rly ring. 

Luke: 

Ole alligator on a log, 

Holdin' talk wid a big bull-frog: 

De alligator up an' say 

How dis a monst'ous pootv day. 



62 BLACK MAMMT. 

C^SAR : 
Frog look wise an' say, "Jis' so;" 
He's gwine down to de grocery sto' 
To bu}^ some sugar fur to eat, 
He got a toof so monst'ous sweet. 

Eph: 

Ole alligator say he's sad. 
An' feelin' mighty pow'ful bad; 
What give him sich a sorry look. 
He done gone loss his pocket-book. 

Cato: 
Ole Mistah Frog, ne up an' 'low 
He doan' like po' folks anyhow; 
De alligator give one jump 
An' swaller bull-frog in a lump. 

Luke: 

Now tell me, niggahs, ef you know. 
Of eatin' things de bes' dat grow; 
I fiifigs a quarter up dat Eph, 
On eatin' truck am 'bout de chief. 



BLACK MAMM2\ 63 

Eph: 

Well, fus' come fresh young 'possum meat, 
Wid yaller yams, so good an' sweet, 
An' den spring chicken, rich an' fat, 
An' water-millions arter dat. 

Cato : 
No, sah ; doan' think dat Ise a dunce, 
To bet 'gin him dat names, at once, 
Mos' evah thing dar is on earth, 
'Cept what aint mo' dan fo'pence worth. 

IX. 

THE GOVERNOR. 

And so they went in endless rhyme — - 
The other darkies keeping time 
And "pattin' juba," swinging round. 
Or rolling on the grassy ground. 

Beneath the shady trees; 
When suddenly the merry peals 
Of fun were checked by carriage-wheels, 
The sound of which came rattling through 
The trees along the avenue. 

Borne on the balmv breeze. 



64 BLA CK MA MMT. 

X. 

"De Guv'ner's come!" a dozen cried, 
And all, bare-headed, stood beside 
The clean and winding gravel drive, 
To see the honored guest arrive, 

And help his party down. 
Two handsome drags drew up before 
The mansion's wide, inviting door; 
From one a troop of children light, 
With joyous faces, clear and bright. 

And eyes of blue and brown. 

XI. 

From out the other carriage came 

i\ man of noble mien and frame; 

Then following, a matron fair, 

With Genevieve's brown eves and hair — 

The father and the mother. 
My grandsire's eyes were bright with joy 
Presenting me, he said, "Sir Ro}', 
This is the Governor of the State, 
And this the helpful wife and mate 

To Frank, your foster brother." 



BLACK MAMMY. 65 

XII. 

Such greetings, and such love and joy, 
Such happiness without alloy. 
As filled the dear old homestead then, 
Are never writ by mortal pen. 

But by the angels sung. 
With merry memories, the day 
On Pleasure's wings flew fast away. 
And night's dark mantle, star-begemmed, 
And forest-fringed, horizon-hemmed. 

Was o'er the heavens flung. 

XIII. 

In blest reunion, late that night. 

We sat within the soft twilight 

Of brightest stars, beneath the trees. 

And in the perfume-laden breeze 

That played, the leaves among. 

White-haired old mammy's heart was filled 

So full, her loving lips were stilled. 

When Frank took Cato's rude old shell, 
—9 



66 BLACK AfAAIMT. 

And in a voice like silver bell, 
So softly, sweetly sung: 

XIV. 

THE governor's SONG. 

Oh Genevieve! m}^ darling queen, 

I hear all day thy dear old songs, 
And with them comes each happy scene 

That with their memory belongs. 
I hear the notes of "Dixie's Land," 

And "Swanee River's" tender air, 
"La Marseillaise," so strong and grand. 

The pathos of the "Maiden's Prayer." 

Oh Genevieve! sweet Genevieve! 

The years may come, the years may go. 
But still 'round thee shall memor}^ weave 

The dear old songs of long ago. 

Oh Genevieve! my darling wife, 

I bless the day that brought me here. 

And that when you became the life 
And soul of all that I hold dear. 



BLACK MAMMY. 

The pomp and pride of high estate ; 

The honors that to rank belong, 
Will ever in my bosom wait 

To hear from thee one dear old song. 

XV. 

GOOD-BYE. 

And now, good-bye, old Southern home. 

And rest thee. Southern harp. 
Through all the world I'm called to roam. 

Where winds are chill and sharp. 
Thy shell shall be my solace sweet 

When to the heart I turn, 
And Memory will hold complete. 

Home-love within her urn. 



67 




Y VILLAGE HOME, 



MY VILLAGE HOME. 



To Hon. JOHN CHARLES THOMPSON. 



TN Memory's halls my dear old home, 
And boyhood's bright and happy days, 

Shall live with me where'er I roam, 
And light me with their gladsome rays 
Along life's hard and thorny ways. 

Long years had passed, and many friends 
Were wishing I would come again — 

And others too — for Hate oft bends 
Before the throne of years, like grain 
Before the wind and hail and rain. 

As thus a welcome I had earned 
Of hearty, good, and kindly will. 

With joy my wandering steps I turned. 
And sought my old home on the hill. 
And those who fondly loved me still. 



MT VILLAGE HOME. yi 

Just where the turnpike rounds a ledge, 
O'ergrown with flo\vers, turf and moss, 

Where, underneath, a thick-set hedge 

Caught many an autumn's heaps of dross, 
That northwinds from the branches toss. 

My heart was gladdened once again 
B}^ sight of what, in fitful gleams. 

Had oft been pictured to my brain. 
In slumber's fancy— blessed dreams — 
M}^ mountain home, its hills and streams. 

The sun just tipped the trees with light ; 
Their lengthening shadows fell by mine, 

And in the far-off distance, bright 
I saw the gleaming steeples shine. 
And sunset gild the waving pine. 

I gazed enraptured on the scene — ■ 
Below, the vale, beyond, the town 

Just peeping through its leafy screen. 
And stood there till the sun went down, 
And darkness gathered all around. 



72 MY VILLAGE HOME, 

Then on with eager haste I bent — 
Across the bridge and up the road, 

And to my Hmbs new strength was lent, 
And lighter grew my heavy load 
As near and nearer home I strode. 

The stage coach, and its weary four, 

Came slowly up the stony hill, 
And save the mill-dam's sullen roar. 

The night was silent, calm and still; 

Hushed e'en the music of the rill. 

But when the driver wound his horn, 
A hundred watch-dogs bayed aloud; 

The hills threw back the notes in scorn, 
And tower'd higher, darker-browed, 
Beneath their crowns of silv'ry clouds. 

I strolled on through the quiet street. 
Where tall old trees, on either hand. 

Wept dew-drops, bowed, and seemed to meet. 
And sighed, while gentle breezes fanned 
The face of this, mv native land. 




•lO 



74 MT VILLAGE HOME, 

I stood a moment by the gate, 

Before a little cottage door 
Where oft I'd lingered sadly late 

With one I loved in days of yore; 

Love now, and shall forevermore. 

A lamp within sent mellow light 
Far out into the darkness wild. 

And on the curtains, pure and white. 
Were blent, in shadow-pictures mild, 
A kneeling mother and her child. 

I knew it was my heart's first love, 
Whom bitter fate had torn from me — 

To waft her orisons above. 

She knelt, her child beside her knee- 
It was my boy-love, Ella Gree. 

Then lifted was my heart with hers. 
To that bright realm beyond the sky. 

Where angel voices, 'mid the spheres. 
Chant "Blessed be the Lamb on High," 
In sweetly sounding symphony. 



MY VILLAGE HOME. 75 

I prayed that Heaven's blessings should 

Forever circle 'round her brow; 
That smiling Fortune kindly would 

Her life with gracious gifts endow, 

x\nd endless happiness allow. 
* * * " * * * 

Of those who were my schoolmates dear. 
With rosy cheeks and happy hearts, 

I found them aged, worn and sere, 
Engaged in wealth engendering arts 
And chasing treasures in Life's marts. 

Around them clustered boys and girls, 
Just such as we in by-gone days; 

Whose joyous shouts and dancing curls 
Brought back to me, in halcyon rays, 
That golden time which never stays. 

I lived my young life o'er, among 

The scenes my boyish days had known; 

In sylvan aisles, where echoes rung 
To laugh or shout, or mocking moan. 
In clear and wild and startling tone. 



76 



Mr VILLAGE FIOME, 



Sometimes along the green hill slopes 
I rambled with my schoolmates' boys, 

And felt how Age bears off Youth's hopes, 
And tramples o'er our vain-sought joys, 
And bursts our airy bubble toys. 




Twixt the hills with mighty bound.' 



MT VILLAGE HOME. 77 

These little comrades led me 'round 
A foot-path on the mountain side, 

Where 'twixt the hills, with mighty bound, 
A torrent flings its sparkling tide 
Down to a lake, deep, blue and wide. 

And then through caves; in brooks and mire; 
O'er fallow-field; through wood and brake; 

Now picking berries from the briar, 
Or skipping stones upon the lake. 
Or resting, for some laggard's sake. 

Then through the graveyard, by the wood, 
Where sweetlv bloomed the wild vine rose: 

There once a church and school-house stood; 
There many dear-loved friends repose, 
And still that old-time graveyard grows. 

A thicket covers now the ground 

That many a year had bloomed with corn, 

Where, as a boy, I've followed round 
The plowman, many a rosy morn. 
And with him blessed the dinner horn. 



7cy 



Mr VILLAGE HOME. 




'And still that oid-ti me graveyard grows." 



Old Winter's bleak and chilly wind, 
And rattling sleet and driving rain, 

A grand old forest used to find 
* On yonder broad and level plain. 
Now covered o'er wi-h golden grain. 



MY VILLAGE HOME. 79 

The house wherein my father dvveh, 

And where his father's head grew gray: 

Beneath whose roof my mother knelt 
And taught her children how to pray: 
Has, like those loved ones, passed away. 

Now, far from all, 'tis joy to think 

Remembrance vet hath left her smiles, 

My heart to home she still doth link: 
Her potent hand blots out the miles, 
And visions sweet my life beguiles. 





A MODERN TEMPLE. 



To Hon. H. A. W. TABOR, ok Colorado. 



KOT many short and fleeting years, 
With all their hopes, and joys, and fears, 
Have marched unhalting to the dead, 
With steady, stern and silent tread, 
Since o'er the hills and vallevs here 
The red man chased the panting deer. 
And by the dark Missouri's tide 
The warrior wooed his dusky bride; 



A MODERN TEMPLE. 8i 

Not long ago, where now we stand, 
With blessings rich', on every hand. 
The war-whoop through the forest rang, 
Among the pines the wild winds sang; 
The screams of eagles in the air 
Met echo in the gray wolf's lair; 
The bison, with his shaggy mane, 
Grazed, all unharmed, upon the plain; 
The paddle of the light canoe 
Flashed where the water-lihes grew; 
In nature's garb the land was drest, 
From mountain's foot to craggy crest, 
And all was fresh, untouched and wild. 
The free home of the forest child. 
But soon, from toward the rising sun, 
Was heard the white man's axe and gun ; 
The forest bowed before his hand. 
And as a garden bloomed the land; 
The ploughshare turned the virgin soil. 
And rich rewards repaid the toil 
Of ever}^ hardy pioneer 
Who built his humble cabin here. 



S2 A MODERN TEMPLE. 

Fair cities decked the boundless west, 
And here, the fairest and the best 
Sprang up, as if the builder's arm 
Was aided by a magic charm, 
And soon o'er hill, and vale and stream, 
Was heard the wild and startling scream 
Of swiftly-flying, fire-fed steed, 
Dashing along at w^ondrous speed, 
And scattering here, far and near, 
Wealth and strength in his proud career. 
And thus, among the gray foot-hills. 
Spires and homes, and shops and mills 
Have risen as though genii hands 
Had wrought where this fair city stands. 

The rarest of the glist'ning gems 
That deck the city's brow — 

The brightest in her diadem. 
Is this w^e're setting now; 

And he who gave this temple name, 
. Shall crow^n the beauteous queen, 

And coming years shall sing his fame 
And keep his memory green. 



A MODERN TEMPLE, 83 

Each lovely Muse, who has a place 

Within this temple grand, 
His dreams, and waking thoughts, shall grace. 

And bless his open hand; 
For 'neath the sun, no fairer shrine. 

Since Delphi, lost so long. 
Was ever lifted to the Nine 

Of Art, and Soul, and Song. 

'Neath this broad dome, night after night, 

For many a coming year — 
'Neath all the golden, dazzling light. 

From yon bright chandelier, 
Shall come the man, the maid, the dame. 

To drink from pleasure's cup. 
And see the actor strive for fame, 

And hold the mirror up. 

The walking thoughts of Avon's bard, 

His hero, king and clown. 
His guileless maid, and bearded pard. 

And monk, in cowl and gown, 
Shall often picture, on this stage. 



84 A MODERN TEMPLE. 

The passions, loves and hates, 
Of every nation, land and age 
Outside the pearly gates. 

The soldier, lady-love and king, 

Who came at Bulwer's call. 
Shall make their gallant speeches ring 

And echo through this hall. 
And birds of song their notes shall trill 

'Mid orange groves and palms. 
And every heart shall feel the thrill 

Of music's potent charms. 

Here England's purs}" Knight shall wmce 

Before the Windsor fays, 
And Denmark's melancholy prince 

Shall call his mimic plays. 
And handle Yorick's iieshless pate. 

And break Ophelia's heart. 
And taming handsome, shrewish Kate, 
• Petruchio '11 play nis part. 

Here Lear, every inch a king. 
Shall v^ear his monstrous woes. 



A MODERN TEMPLE. 85 

And Juliet to her lover cling 

Till death's releasing throes; 
Macbeth shall rue his murd'rous deeds 

In crime's entangling mesh, 
And Shylock, with revengeful greed, 

Demand ^his pound of flesh. 

And hunch-back Richard, cruel, vile, 

Shall meet his Richmond here, 
And on great Caesar's fun'ral pile 

Shall fall the Roman tear. 
The jealous Moor shall send above 

Sweet Desdemona's soul, 
And Pauline prove that woman's love 

Outweighs the power of gold. 

Bright tears of joy shall dim the eye 

For Darling Jessie Brown, 
Who hears, while others 'round her die, 

The welcome slogan's sound. 
Here poor old Rip shall totter in 

To seek his little cot, 



86 A MODERN TEMRLE. 

And find how, in Life's rush and din, 
We are so soon forgot. 

The earth, the sky, the boundless sea. 

And every race and age. 
Before these scenes shall gathered be 

Upon this spacious stage. 
Here Pleasure with her smiles shall bring 

Surcease from daily cares. 
And dullen Sorrow's sharpened sting, 

And lift the woe she bears. 




WAR WAIFS 



GRANT'S RETURN. 



To Col JAMES JACKSON, San Francisco. 



It was the 20th day of September, 1879, that the gallant 
steamer "Tokio" hove in sight with the "man on horseback." 
It was the greatest day, in one sense, that San Francisco 
ever saw. The famous ex-President had been expected for 
two or three days, and the city was almost hid among ever- 
greens, banners, streamers, tlags, bunting, and decorations 
of every description appropriate to the occasion, and at the 
entrance to New Montgomery Street, between the Palace 
and Grand Hotels, a superb triumphal arch had been erected 
under which the hero would have to ride, at the head of the 
procession, to reach his quarters in the Palace. In the 
afternoon of the third day the "Tokio" was sighted from 
the Farralone Islands, a few miles out from the Golden 
Gate; the news was signaled to the Cliff" House, six miles 
from the heart of the city, and from there was telegraphed 
to the authorities. In ten minutes every public bell in San 
Francisco was ringing and every whistle was screaming; 
such a din, of the kind, w^as never heard before on earth. 
The people rushed to the wharves, and to the hills over- 
looking the bay, in vast crow ds ; all of the craft that swarmed 
the bay turned toward the entrance; the military and civic 
societies, cornet bands and the like, for the grand parade, 
began to march for the Market Street ferry dock, where 

the distinguished parly w^ould land, and all of the vast mass 
— 12 



go WAR WAIFS. 

of humanity was collectively and individually ^vildly eager 
to see and honor the soldier guest. But it was night before 
the ''Tokio" had cast anchor and the ferry steamer ''Oak- 
land" had taken General and Mrs. Grant and suite ashore. 
Then the procession began to move through the brilliantly 
lighted streets, which were packed with human beings for 
miles along the line of march. The inighty pageant moved 
for hours and the grand procession unwound itself like a 
monstrous serpent, but with all the miles and hours the 
left wing of the procession had not left the ferry dock when 
its right had made the tour of the city, and General Grant 
in a carriage, accompanied by Mayor Bryant, rode under 
the triumphal arch of natural flowers and into the courtyard 
of the Palace Hotel late at night. 

Then old Uncle Josiah, w ho had been staying in the city 
several davs to participate in the glorious affair, went home 
and told Aunt Jerusha all about it, somewhat after this 
St vie: 



4<Y/v T^^^ ^^^ y^^ '^^^' ^^^^ ^^^^^" ^^ mine. 
What did vou see in town? 

Sit down and tell it all to me, 

And clear away that frown." 



"I warn't a-frownin' at you, my dear. 

.My kind and good old wife; 
But tell it all, I .couldn't do. 
To save your blessed life. 



GRANT'S RETURN. p/ 

"My poor old head is all mixed up, 

A-seein' so many sights — 
That makes the frown you see, my dear, 

And stayin' up o' nights. 

"I struck the town on Saturday morn, 
And, bless me! what do vou think? 

The way 'twas dressed and capered out 
Just made my old eyes wink. 

"The flags were flyin' everywhere. 

Of every shape and kind. 
And bunting flapped, and banners gay 

Were waving in the wind. 

"Across the streets and up the streets, 

The good old flag was hung. 
And everywhere I turned about, 

The hero's praise was sung. 

"And walls so high, I couldn't see 

Just where they meant to stop. 
Were hid with shields and evergreens, 

Away up to the top. 



c,2 WAR WAIFS. 

'^*Honor the Brave' and 'Welcome Grant' — 
Things meanin' nigh the same — 

And every other trick on earth, 
To tell the hero's fame, 

<'Clung to the houses, decked the doors 

And waved on every hand — 
In short the sight just simply was 

Tremendu-us and grand. 

" 'Bout three and a half, in the afternoon. 
There came the wildest clang — 

The cannon boomed and whistles screamed, 
And all the big bells rang. 

"The people rushed, pell-mell, away 

Towards the hills and docks, 
In crowds and streams, and surging gangs, 

Like sheep in frightened flocks. 

"The hills that overlooked the bay 
Were packed Hke swarms of bees. 

And all the ships were thronged with men, 
Like leaves upon the trees. 



GRANTS RETURN, 93 

"But Kurnel Jim, our brave young friend, 

Took me right in his 'coop', 
And away we went down to the wharf — 

You'd oughter heard me whoop. 

"We went on board a little craft, 

That looked just hke a bug. 
But mighty iast, and clean, and tight, 

And elegant and snug. 

"Away we went, toward the sea, 

And nigh the Golden Gate 
We met the mighty Tokio, 

With her noble human freight. 

"We run 'longside, they took us in, 

There stood the famous man, 
A double spy-glass to his eyes, 

A see-gar in his hand. 

"And just as cool, you'd never thought 

That all this show and blare 
Was anything at all to him — 

Sich men are mighty rare. 



p^ WAJ^ WAIFS. 

"But that which pleased me far the best, 

And wet my dim old eyes, 
And made me think of them of ourn 

That's gone beyond the skies, 

"Was when that boy of General Grant's 

Climbed up the big ship's side. 
And fell upon his mother's neck. 

And called her name, and cried. 

"That lady, Mrs. General Grant, 

Was 'Mother dear' to him — 
The meeting, after three long years. 

Made many eyes grow dim. 

"Well, up the bay the gallant fleet 
Sailed where the cannons roared, 

And Alcatraz and Angel Isle 
A blaze from guns outpoured. 

"The war-ships belched their loud broadsides; 

From many a brass band's clang 
'Hail to the Chief,' from everywhere, 

In clashing music rang. 



GRANT'S RETURN. ^5 

"When night had closed around the scene, 

The city beamed with Hght, 
And rockets glared and fires blazed 

On Yerba Buena's height. 

"The Tokio, her voyage done, 

Then resting in the bay, 
Like some huge monster of the sea 

Beside her anchors lay. 

"And then the Mayor and his staff. 

And Governor came down, 
To give the General welcome home 

And freedom of the town. 

"The Oakland brought the General off, 

And as he stepped ashore, 
The surging crowd set up a shout 

That swelled into a roar. 

"The Mayor made a pretty speech. 

And Grant in brief replied; 
He said he felt immensely pleased 

To reach this Western side. 



g6 WAR WAIFS, 

"And talked about the good old times 

When he was here before, 
And thanked them for this welcome, grand, 

Back to his native shore. 

"The}^ took him then, in royal state, 

Up through the city^s glare, 
Amid the people's wild huzzas, 

xAnd trumpets' brazen blare. 

"The streets were packed, for miles and miles, 

With crowds in wild delight. 
And all along the swarming sway. 

Was one bright blaze of light. 

"The grand parade, with banners gay. 

Was sure a pleasing sight, 
But that which gave me pleasure most, 

On that eventful night 

"Was seeing soldiers fi om both sides, 

In all the great ado. 
Marching together in the ranks. 

The gray beside the blue. 



GRANTS RETURN. p; 

"It showed if there was e'er a man 

To bridge the chasm wide, 
'Twas him for whom these veteran foes 

Were marching side by side. 

"Well, all along the crowded way 

The cry was 'See! he's here!' — 
The welkin /ang, as on he came. 

With one continued cheer. 

"The people craned their necks and climbed 

To any spot or place 
To catch a glimpse, however short. 

Of that great hero's face. 

"At last he reached the end, that night. 

Of one more glorious march, 
And rode, a modest man, beneath 

A huge triumphal arch. 

"Then songs and choruses were sung. 

And anthems of the free. 

And many hundred freemen's throats 

Gave forth the nation's glee. 
—13 



g8 WAR WAIFS. 

"We've got him back upon our shores, 
Once more, good wife of mine. 

And he will keep, the nation thinks, 
Like good old ruby wine." 



'TIS MORE THAN ALL. 



"No sail! no sail!" the drifting sailor moans; 
"No gold! no gold!" the toiling miner groans: 
"No fame! no name!" the weary poet sighs; 
"No love! no love!" the heart in anguish cries. 

With all we get, of life, or fame, or gold, 
Existence here is dark, and sad and cold, 
W^ithout that light and blessing from above. 
One sweet and trusting, earnest woman's love. 



SATISFACTION. 



To Dk. JAMES SYMPSON, Wincuestek, Kv. 



s 



wo brave old soldiers of the South, 
Who carried many scars 

They'd got while fighting 

underneath 
Their cherished stars and 

bars, 
Were talking of the sunny 

South — 
Their home — as all men 

do. 
The men who wore the 

rebel gray, 
And those who wore the 
blue. 




loo WAR WAIFS. 

A vet'ran of the Federal line 

Chanced then to pass that way, 
And on his breast the brazen star, 

A badge of honor, la}-. 
Quoth Johnnie Reb to Johnnie Reb, 

"Did you observe that thar? 
Now tell me what that emblem means — 

That shiny golden star. 

"I see 'em every now and then, 

No matter whar I go. 
And what they mean's a-puzzlin' me, 

And what I want to know. 
The men who w'ar 'em, when they meet, 

Say, 'Comrade, howdy-do?' 
And shake with honest, hearty grip, 

In friendship, strong and true." 

"Well, I can tell you what they mean," 

The other one replied; 
"They mean those men were soldiers once, 

And rallied side by side." 



SATISFACTION, 

"Ef that's the case," the first one asked, 
"Whar wuz they in the waugh.'' 

What sorter fightin' did they do. 
An' hovv'd they stand at taw?" 

"They came right up, Hke gallant men, 

And made it awful hot. 
Where sabres gleamed and cannon roared 

And belched their hurthng shot. 
That was the sort of fight they made. 

And never flinched a bit; 
You'll b'lieve me when I tell you, pard, 
. That we're the ones they fit." 



lOI 




WHEN WE FORGET. 

To Coi-. ED. WVNKOOP, Santa Fe, X. M. 

^^/k till ever come the careless day, 

When we, who stood in war's array. 
Shall have no heart to dwell upon 
The deeds of comrades, dead and gone, 
Or e'en of those, who, living still. 
Are marching down life's rugged hill, 
To cross the stream that lies beside 
The resting-place of them who died. 
That our land may truly be 
The home, forever, of the free? 

Not while a hero wears a scar; 
Not while the eag-le and the star 
Shall decorate the breasts of men 
Who braved the battle's fury, when 
They saw uplifted in the land 
A strong and fratricidal hand 



WHEN WE FORGET. lo 



'jy 



To tear the storied banner down, 
That, born of heaven's starry crown, 
Those self-same heroes freely gave 
Their blood and best young years to save. 

Not while in memorv shall last 
The thrillful stor}- of the past, 
And while the songs we used to sing 
Shall tune the heart and round it fling 
Remembrances of toilful days, 
Of dangers dark or happ}^ ways 
That led us 'long a rugged life 
'Twixt frequent fields of fearful strife, 
Where mewing ball and screeching shell 
Seemed part the orchestra of hell: 

Where gallant rides of heroes down 
To smoking plain or blazing town 
Brought victory back to wavering ranks, 
And smote w'ith death the galling flanks. 
And turned an enemv about 
From triumph's flush to ruin's rout, 
And changed the charging foeman's yell 



I04 WAR WAIFS. 

To sorrowful disaster fell, 

To plant the gleaming stripes and stars 

Above the vaunted stars and bars. 

Not while to memory's unsealed 
The murky march to Shiloh's field, 
Or dark Antietam's crimson flow, 
And Perrysville's ensanguined glow, 
Where kinsmen met in mortal strife. 
To brave each other, life to life. 
Within the woods and pastures green, 
Amid the leafy, summer's sheen. 
Where boys together they had played 
Beneath the spreading forest shade. 

We'll cherish all until the day 
That recollection fades away. 
And leaves no impress of the fight. 
On Lookout Mountain's cloudy height; 
Of red Resaca's fierce contest, 
And Chickamauga's devil-nest; 
Of grim Atlanta's stern defense. 
And Gettysburg's black violence. 



WHEN WE FORGET, 105 

And firm Fort Moultrie's miry fen, 
iVnd every rotten prison-pen. 

Till from each country-loving breast, 
All recollection's sunk to rest 
Of friendships, welded in the blaze 
Of war's red furnace, and the bays 
Shall wither on each noble head 
That now for country's sake lies dead; 
Till every siege and march and camp. 
With all their joys and griefs, lie damp 
Within the mildewed, tottering walls. 
Of memory's empty, ruined halls. 

We'll not forget the comrades true, 
Who wore with us the loyal blue. 
But yet forgive, in heartsome way, 
The erring ones who donned the gray. 
We'll keep the soldier heart to feel 
For all who faced a foeman's steel. 
And while we garland every grave 
Of fair Columbia's fallen brave. 
Sweet charity will smile anew, 
To see ill-will forgotten, too. 




Gen. U. S. GRANT. 



GRANT. 

FROM humble walks and homely way 
Away from glare and cant — - 
To highest fame and victor's bays, 

Rose grand, heroic Grant. 
In peace, a man of quiet mien. 

In war, a leader brave, 
All time will keep his memory green 
And decorate his grave. 

He fought the nation's battles well, 

And saved his country's life. 
And coming centuries will tell 

His deeds amid the strife. 
With sword and pen he wrote a page 

Of history, so bright 
His name is blazoned on the age 

In lines of living light. 



io8 



WAR WAIFS. 



He led the legions of his land 

Like Joshua of old, 
And on the Shore Beyond they stand 

In glory's line enrolled. 
A monument will flout the sky 

And proudly mark the ground 
Where, honored here, his ashes lie, 

A hero heaven-crowned. 



MARCHING ON. 



To JOHN K. JEFFREY, of Chey?:nne. 



Q TEADILY on, the years have gone, 

0/ With stern and silent tread, 

A score and more, since that dark day 

When war's black cloud o'erspread 
This land of love and liberty, 

In happ}^ Union wed. 

Aye, many years have sped away 
Since voice and bugle called 

A million men to serried ranks — ■ 
True hearts and unappalled^ 

The nation's strength was rent in twain. 
And stood opposing, walled. 

Then Northern nerve and Southern soul 

Were blent in battle's heat, 
And 'gainst each other in the strife 

Their flashing blades were beat, 



no WAR WAIFS, 

And high the waves of carnage ran, 
Ensanguined in the meet. 

That crimson page in history's book 
Hath long ago been turned, 

And Peace, upon her altar-flame, 
Her incense offerings burned; 

Remembrance freshens here to-day 
The vvoful lesson learned. 

The ribbed and wrinkled face of earth, 
Where rifle-pits were lain, 

And where the long contending lines 
Belched storms of leaden rain. 

Shines brightly in the springtime's sun- 
Is smooth and fair again. 

And now, throughout the blessed land 
That thousands died to save, 

We strew, in love, these floral sweets 
Upon each grassy grave. 

In memory of our comrades gone, 
The lost and fallen brave. 



MARCHING ON. iii 

The mighty host that marshalled once, 

Amid the rush and din 
Of surging elements of war, 

Engulfing kith and kin, 
Is filling up these silent ranks, 

And ours are growing thin. 

The Grand old Army's veteran line 

Is marching to the tide, 
Where some have crossed, and resting lie 

In bivouac, side by side. 
And all the column follows on 

The grim, unhalting guide. 

'Twill reassemble over there, 

In glorious array, 
And heaven's ever-shining sun 

A living light shall lay. 
In one white sheen, upon a line 

That blends the blue and gray. 



FILII VETERANORUM. 



iNsi. KiuKD ro (JKO. ('.. MKADE CAMP, No. .\ Sons ok \'i.tekans, 
Cheyenne, Wyoming. 

SAKE the flag, ye sons of sires — 
They who kept the altar tires 

i Of the nation blazing 
bright, 
Through the wild tem- 
pestuous night 
Of the war's black deso- 
lation, 
And who gave the land 
salvation. 

Son's of Veterans, take 
their banners, 

And with long and loud 
hosannas. 

Praise the God who reigns 
above, 




FILII VETERANOKUM. 113 

Who hath given home and love; 
Let your watchword ever be 
"North and South, Fraternity." 

Lo! now, in the northern Hghts, 
Crimson hue with blue unites; 
In their splendor quivering bars 
Weave ^mong the gleaming stars, 
Till, with gems in every fold, 
See the spangled flag unrolled. 

O'er the land, and every sea, 
Waves this ensign of the free; 
Guided by its lambent light 
This republic, in th^ right, 
Leads you onward, stern arrayed, 
Wielding Freedom's battle-blade. 



-15 



MY COMRADE WITH A CROWN. 



To THE Memory oi COLEMAN ROGERS APPERSOX. 

1^ ^ Y dearest friend, when later years, 
X Have floated down life's troubled stream, 

Laden w^ith care, as age appears, 

Remember then youth's golden dream, 
When, with that glow of nerving ire, 

That ever cheers the patriot on 
To brave hard toil and dangers dire, 

Thus to avenge his country's wa-ong. 
We left our homes and kindred dear. 

By deep pra3'ers followed that our stay 
Would brin<j nausfht but a thankful tear 

That God had lightened all our way: 
Remember, too, this barren rock, 

Where nature holds her rugged sway, 
Where chaos wild she seems to mock, 

As when the world had know-n no dav: 



COMRADE WITH A CROWN. 115 

How on our watch together here 

We vowed to change the scene and page, 
And in another play appear 

Upon a better-lighted stage. 
Ah, yes, when age has dimmed your sight. 

Let memory greet me with a smile. 
The boy who by you stood for right — 

Your true friend in the rank and file. 
IlAXGiN(i Rock, Wild Cat, Ky., June 18, 1863. 



But now, long since those humble lines were 

writ, 
By a flickering midnight lamp I sit, 
Remembering, sadly, thou art in thy grave. 
My gallant friend, so noble, true and brave. 

For on Resaca's blood-red field of strife. 
To country yielding there thy pure young life. 
In glowing lines upon the scroll of fame 
Was traced, forever bright, thy glorious name. 



II 6 



WAR [VAIFS. 



And high o'er all thy loft}^ soul hath soared 
Away to Tlim bv all pure hearts adored; 
But, thanks to God, beyond the silent grave 
Once more with thee we'll meet, our long-lost 
brave! 

Loi is\ iLi.i--,, Kv., Fcbriiarv 3, 1868. 




DIALECT POEMS 



INTERNATIONAL. 



To Hon. GEORGE P. SMITH, of Dknvkk. 



PAT. 




% 



"WAS not me intintion 
To make ony mintion 
Of P^rin, the gim that lies over the say: 
But since ye are spakin', 
An' boastin' a-makin', 
Bedad I'll be takin' 
A hand in that busy-ness too, be the way 

It's a nate little island 

Of low land and hisfh land. 



INTERNA TIONAL. iic^ 

Wad girls just as purty as iver they grow : 
An' by that same token — 
An' sure I'm not jokin', 
The land is just soakin' 

Wad phwisky as foine as the}^ make it, ye know. 

And a man takes it aisy 

3^ust simply bekase he 
Has nothing much else to be doin', ye see. 

The land's so oppressed 

Wad the lord and his guest, 

Sure to Paddy it's best 
To lave his dear home for wan that is free. 

But w^here'er he wanders 
The Irishman ponders 

Upon the swate island, the land of his birth: 
And sighs for her mountains, 
Her lakes and her fountains. 
The woods and the green lanes 

Of Erin, mavourneen, the bright spot of earth. 



120 



DIALECT POEMS. 




HANS. 

Shust stop von leedle, meisther Pat, 

Unci lisden — dot is so. 
Dot blaces you call Ireland 

Is pooty fine, I know, 
But don't id vos too schmall, mein Gott! 

To raise dot kebbige roses 
Dot grows so big by Prussia oud— 

So helup me gracious, Moses! 

Down of dot Rhine, dot glides him py 

Der Deitchen Engleheim, 
Mine fadder maks a wine so goot 

Id's jolly all der time. 



INTERNATIONAL. 121 

Und efery vere de peer vas rich 

Und blendy — dot is true — 
Und I vos fond von peer and wine — 

So helup me — so vos you? 

Yaw, Sharmany is pooty nice, 

Und I vood stay me dere. 
But den my brudder comes avay, 

So I comes over hare. 
Katrina like dis goondry too — 

She say her healt's so goot, 
Und ve got twendy ghels to shoe, 

Und fifteen poys to boot. 

JACQUES. 
x\h, zees is vera fine, zees talk — 

But go to La Belle France 
Wiz me, for zhust one littal walk — 

Ze home of wine and dance. 

Ze vin tree grow, ze frog he hop. 

So mooch, so quick in France, 

Ze man can go and nevair stop — 

Ze poor man have one chance. 
—16 



122 



DIALECT POEMS. 



And Paree — ah, zat city grand — 
Be gar! zat ope your eye; 

No city in zees new-found land 
Can wiz zat city vie. 




And in zat Jardin de Mabille, 
Ze leddy kick so high, 

You vera mooch afraid she will 
One hole kick in ze skv. 



Zees countrv you haf speak about, 

So vera rich and tine, 
Ees not one-half compare him out 

Wiz zat grand France of mine. 



INTERNATIONAL, 123 

POMP. 

Jesso! jesso! you's a-ta]kin' mighty loose, 
You white folks is, but it aint no use, 
De Ian' of de blessed an' de Ian' of de free 
Is right hyar among us, you hear me? 




You's a-braggin' mighty tall 'bout whar you 

useter be, 
x\n' things just a-whoopin' in de lan's across de 

sea. 
But 3^ou rolls over hyar, mighty thick and 

mighty' fas'. 
An' it looks like 3^0' comin' was a-gwine fur 

ter las'. 

Ef everything was better in de "gim of de say," 
An' nuthin' half as good as it is in "Sharmany," 



124 J) I ALEC T POEMS. 

An' France was a beater fur dis — two to one, 
Wharfo' don't you stay dar? — listen to me, Hon'! 

I don't b'lieve a word nar' word of it all - 
You done heerd dis nigger git up an' squall — 
But I tell you what's de trufe — an' I tell you 

mighty plain — 
Hit's jes' as I was sayin' to Hanner Mariar 

Jane : 

Ef you'd jes' stop a-drinkin", an' git down to 

work, 
An' lay aside you' blunderbust an' sling-shot 

an' dirk, 
An' try an' do you' duty, like you swo' you 

\yould to us, 
Hard times would take a skeer, an' git up an' 

dus'. 

He's a low man, in my mind, dat's layin' roun' 

to talk. 
Ef yo' gwine to be a citizen you's got ter walk 

de chalk. 
Dese am de facts, an' every word is true. 
An' dats what make de niggah say what he do. 



SORRY FOR THE LORD. 



To JOHN FRIEND, of Rawlins, Wyoming. 

T 'M gittin' sorry fur you, Lawd, 

Indeed an' trufe, I am; 
De niggah wants so monst'ous much, 

Cep' Gilead an' de ba'm. 
De}' prays fur ev'rything dey needs, 

Dat work would bring 'em all, 
An' wants de fruit of all de 'arth, 

Jis' like befo' de fall. 

I heard one niggah prayin', Lawd, 

His very level bes', 
Fur Christmas time de whole year roun' 

An' all de time a res'; 
He axed to have de chicken roos' 

Down on de lowes' limb, 
An' turkeys jes' on top de fence, 

In easy reach er him. 



126 niALECr POEMS. 

Come stately steppiir, oh, good Lawcl, 

Ton yo' lil}'-vvliite steed, 
An' smash deni sassy niggahs down. 

An' bruise de sarpint's seed. 
I )ey howls at you de livelong night 

An' robs you of yo' sleep, 
Mvase dev's too lazy fur to sow, 

An' got no craj") to reai>. 



JULEY ANN. 



IN) JOHN ( in<:ia,KV oi. Coiokado. 

-|^EY say Ise cross an' cranky too, 
^^ An' niebbe dal I am. 
ise had enough to worry thoo 
To aggerxate a hnub. 

Ise had nine chilhui in my day, 

An' nar\' one is lef; 
Dey all was tuck an' kyard away, 

An' Tm here by nnse'f. 



JULET ANN. 127 

Ole master died when I wuz grown, 

An' stated in his will, 
I)at I mus' be Miss Susie's own — 

Me an' de water-mill. 

My chillun, dey wuz lotted out— 
An', mind you, 'fo' dey's bawn, 

Fur* I was healthy, young an' stout, , 
An' sho' as las' year's cawn. 

De fus' wuz Tom, dey tuck him when 

He jis' wuz fo' year old. 
An' foll'rin' him wuz little Ben, 

An' den my Jane wuz sold, 

An' Lu an' Jk)b an' Tip an' Jim — 
An' Sam, my crippled son, 

Dey even mosied off wid him, 
An' lef me nary one. 

Dem chillun's scattered ever'vvhar. 

An' dunno who dey is, 
])ut dev will know me ovah dar 

When jedgment's sun is riz'. 



128 DIALEC T POEMS. 

I may 'pear monst'ous cross an' ill, 

But Heaven knows I b'ar 
No spite, er hate, er 'vengeful will 

To block my way up dar. 



AUNT CHLOE'S CREED. 



To GEORGE ^V, OlILENDORF of Omaha. 



T SE hearn a monst'ous heap er talk 

'Bout th'ology an' creeds, 
But you hear me a-shoutin' now, 

Dar's nuthin' like good deeds. 
Jes' gimme sweet religion, please — 

I don't keer what's its name — 
De Methodis' or Babtis' kind 

Will save you, jes' the same. 

I'm on my road to Heaven sho', 
An' aint got time to talk; 

Ef you is gwine 'long wid me 
'You's got to walk de chalk; 

Ole Petah's standin' at de gate, 



AUNT CHLOE'S CREED, 129 

An' hit am wide ajar, 
But jes' a lettah f um de church 
Won't take you in thoo dar. 

He gwineter ax you, mighty close, 

All 'bout yo' daily walk, 
An' ef you holp de neighbor po' 

Wid somepen else but talk; 
He gwineter sarch you thoo an' thoo. 

An' sho' as you is bawn, 
Ef you aint right, you'll wish dat Gabe 

Had nevah blowed his hawn. 

You'll see ole Mary shinin' dar. 

An' Paul an' Silas, too. 
An' Moses an' de other ones, 

De ship er Zion's crew; 
An' nary one will have a creed, 

Ascep' de chas'enin' rod. 
An' all will sing a "hallalu' " 

Aroun' de throne er God. 



—17 



ISO DIALECT POEMS, 

SOME SINGIN'. 



To IIAI.SICV M. UHOADS, oi I)kn\ i:i<. 

'|^E^' talked so mighty monst'ous much 
^^ About de white folks' sincrin' 
Up in de big high-steeple chu'ch 

Hit sot my years a-ringin\ 
So up I goes an' tuck a seat 

jis' whar de sexton p'inted, 
As 'umble dar, at Jesus' feet, 

As any onann'inted. 

De ban' struck up, and I declar' 

Hit nearly froze my livah, 
An' almos' raised my kinky ha'r 

An' made my marrer shivah. 
An' when de singin' started in, 

Away up in de gal'ry, 
Hit sounded like a cotton-gin 

A-screekin' fur a sal'ry. 

Dar warn't no soun' like "hallalu!" 
An' "Jerdan's stormy rivah," 



yUBE'S OLD TALLER BOG. 131 

"Char-i-o' swingin' low fur you," 

As evah I could 'skivah. 
Hit warn't de good ole shoutin' songs 

We has at cullud preachin', 
Whar glory an' de love-feas' b'longs, 

Soul-sarchin' an' heart-reachin'. 



JUBE'S OLD YALLER DOG. 



To Captain M. H. LAMB. 



T SE be'n a-trav'lin' thoo dis vale 

Nigh on to eighty years, 
An' now my eyes is 'gun to fail 

Wid weepin' bittah tears. 
My po' ole wife is goned above — 

De way Ise gwine to jog — 
An' all dat's left fur me to love 

Is dat ole yaller dog. 

My chillun's scattered here an' thar. 

An' wouldn't know me now, 
But we will pass de gates ajar, 




OLD JUBE. 



JUBE'S OLD TALLER DOG. 133 

At jedgment day, I 'low, 
An' while I make de 'stressful rounds 

Thoo all de damp an' fog, 
Of dese yar wearisome low-grounds, 

Ise got dat yaller dog. 

We's hunted, many a livelong night, 

De 'poSsum an' de coon, 
An' cotch 'em by de silvah light 

Of many a southern moon. 
We's built a blaze an' cooked de meat 

'Longside a big back-log. 
An' had some times mos' monst'ous sweet — 

Jis' me an' dat ole dog. 

An' long as I is stayin' here 

Ise got one frien', I know ; 
Ef I is po' de dog don't keer — 

His head don't run on show. 
An' long as I is got a bite 

Er hominy an' hog, 
Ise gwine to 'vide — you jis' is right — 

Wid dat ole yaller dog. 



134 DIALECT POEMS. 

THE TENDERFOOT. 



To \Vm. II. ROOT, OF Lakamik. 



y\ very fresh and forward youth 
^^^ Came ghding from the east, 
And he was bent to ride, forsooth, 

A wild-eyed broncho beast, 
And be a bad man on the plains — 

A howling cowboy king — 
And rule the roost and hold the reins, 

And make the welkin ring. 

He landed here, in fair Cheyenne, 

Full rigged from top to toe. 
The picture of a deadly man 

Prepared to meet a foe. 
With "chaps" and belt, broad hat and gun. 

He seemed, in very truth, 
A Turco fierce, a fiery Hun, 

This callow, eastern youth. 

He splashed his name upon the book 
Where guests are listed do7/n. 



THE TENDERFOOT. 135 

Then strutted out, with haughty look 

To carminate the town. 
The pioneer, who landed here 

In quite an early day, 
Stood back aghast and white with fear, 

Before this dread "hooray." 

The hotel had a boot-black lad, 

A wild, 3'et shining light. 
Who, moved by him who rules the bad, 

Laid for that eastern wight, 
And aided by a graceless crew 

Of jubilating sparks, 
That tenderfoot was trotted through 

A liveh' set of larks. 

In dress much like the buckskin scout 

Who terrifies "the States", 
That boot-black bad went sailing out. 

Conspiring with his mates. 
Thev found the tenderfoot, and led 

The unsuspecting guy 



136 DIALECT POEMS. 

Through doctored drinks, of liquor red, 
And many a fearful lie. 

They fed him stories strong and tough 

Of terrible stampedes; 
How men are ground to sausage stuff 

While doing gallant deeds. 
And thus beguiled, some led him down 

Where Minnehaha flows, 
And others gathered through the town 

A gang of wild bronchos. 

When he had reached the water's side. 

There came a dreadful roar; 
"Stampede! stampede!" those hoodlums cried. 

And scattered long the shore; 
"Dive in, and save yourself!" they yell. 

The tenderfoot "dove" in. 
And down the horsemen came pell-mell, 

With whoop and rattling din. 

.That tenderfoot was nearly drowned. 
In water, muck and mud; 



THE TENDERFOOT. 137 

They dragged him out and gathered 'round 
The damp, young eastern blood; 

They rolled him on the sandy bank 
To pump the mortar out, 

Then took the frail and tender crank 
The bee-line homeward route. 

He lay in bed, a week or two, 

Hard struggling for his breath, 
I^ut youth and beauty pulled him through 

And "coppered" hungry death. 
Then straightway homeward to the east 

That "bad man" took a train; 
He did not ride a broncho beast, 

And won't come back again. 

l^ut 'mong the men, and maidens fair. 

In his dear native town, 
He tells of dangers he would dare. 

And wins a great renown. 
Now such as these are 'mong the best 

Of holy terrors, who 
Are giving our glorious west 

Its gaudy, wicked hue. 

—18 



ij8 D I ALEC T POEMS. 

RED CHECKS. 



To Col. BASCOM, of Kansas. 

T 'VE had the blamedest streak of luck 
That any fellow ever struck 

For six months now, or more. 
My togs are bad and gittin' wuss, 
My hat aint worth a copper cuss. 

Great heavens! what a bore! 

To show how things will all go wrong 
When on that road they start along, 

Just listen to this tale. 
I'd tramped a-many a weary mile, 
Without a single bite, or smile — 

Was hungry, worn and pale. 

'Twas gittin' awful cold and black 
As I come hoohn' down the track 

Into a country town. 
I didn't know a soul anigh 
Unto whose hash-pile I could fly 

For miles and miles around. 



RED CHECKS, ijg 

I walked into that country town, 
And in a faro bank sat down, 

And took a little horn. 
And, tell ye what's the honest truth, 
The checks they used, my gentle youth. 

Were grains of Injun corn. 

I watched that little game awhile, 
Then to myself said with a smile, 

"Now here's a chance for me." 
I know^ed that just a few miles back 
There stood a corn-crib bv the track. 

As full as it could be. 

I sauntered out of that 'ere place. 
And turned my hopeful, eager face 

Toward that brimmin' bin; 
And soon I reached the happy spot. 
And felt among the lucky lot, 

And took a big ear in. 

I shelled it as I went along, 
And sung the only happy song 
I'd sung for ninety days. 



140 DIALECT POEMS. 

I stuck mv stake into my clothes 
And in that bank I stuck my nose, 
For I had made a raise. 

I watched the game a turn or two, 
And tried to look as green as vou. 

And thought I'd played it tine- 
Then walked up like a country jake 
And took a handful of my stake 

And laid it on the nine. 

The dealer looked up with a sigh, 
Which made me think a wumin's nigh. 

And said in tones so bland, 
''My worthy friend, it mayn't look right. 
But no red chips are played to-night" 

And that's the way it panned. 

Now thar's my luck, and any beast 
Who says it's good, he lies at least — 

I'd tell him so right here — 
For in that bin, chuck full of grain, 
No man could ever go, again, 

And find a colored ear. 




'/, 






W\ 



"*. I'^i'Tr. ' ' 



v,'-^§ 



^> 



\H^)^ 



Little 
SKoe 



To P:UGENE field, Esq. 



SHAR aint. much poetry, that's a fact, 
In a pa'r of worn out shoes. 
But I've seen truck agoin', that lacked 
As much of soul, or the muse. 

I've got a shoe, 'bout's big's my thumb. 

All gone at the heel and toe. 
That makes my poor old heartstrings thrum 

To the tune of long ago. 

It's the shoe of a little baby boy. 

Who was two or three worlds to me. 

He come and went, and took all the joy 
That ever I reckon to see. 



142 



DIALECT POEMS. 



The mother that bore him went along, 
And it broke my heart in two; 

Sometimes I hear her lullaby song 
When I'm holding that tiny shoe. 

And I hear the patter of wee, small feet. 
That fitted it when it was new, 

But all that's left is the memory sweet. 
And the little worn out shoe. 

Thar aint no poetry, much, in this. 
But I think I've got the clue 

To a road that leads to a mite of bliss. 
If I follow this baby shoe. 




OR POEMS, 



NO WORDS CAN TELL. 



Q WEET Geraldine, my bonnie queen. 
Qj Thou'dst have me tell in song 
With poet's art, from open heart, 
My love so deep and strong. 



No troubadour, in days of yore, 

E'er sang in accents free 
A song so sweet, at Love's fair feet, 

As I would sing to thee. 

But love like mine, at such a shrine. 

No words can ever tell. 
Or chorded string in music sing 

The hopes that in me dwell. 

'Twould only cost Love's labor lost 

And be a struggling moan. 

Like limners feel who seek to steal 

With brush a dying moan. 
—19 



146 MINOR POEMS. 

If thy bronze hair and face so fair 
Were pillowed on my breast, 

I'd whisper low "I love thee so," 
Nor hope to tell the rest. 



THE NATIONAL ROTUNDA. 



To Cf)L. JOHN A. JOYCE, Geokcktown, D. C. 



YON looming dome, that flouts the azure 
skies, 
Like snowy peaks that 'mong the mountains 

rise, 
In rare proportions lifted, chaste and strong, 
To where the fleecy clouds oft float along, 
And where full many a fierce and sweeping 

gale 
Hath raked its sides of overlying mail, 
Points to the only throne that freemen know, 
And symbols all that patriots ask, below. 

In^bas-relief, upon an eastern door, 

Rogers hath wrought from deep historic lore 



THE rotunda: 147 

In breathing bronze, and snatches back again 
The scenes, the days, the stories and the men 
That marked the pregnant time when eager 

fame 
Was graving Isabella's queenly name 
Beside "Columbus" on the sacred scroll 
That freemen now, with trembling joy, unroll. 

Within the hall the gentlest footstep makes 
The echoes ring, and to the fancy wakes 
The tread of men, like Webster, Cass and Clay, 
Who honored well the nation's yesterday. 
These circled walls are deep and richly 

wrought. 
In carvings quaint, between the archings 

caught. 
And shadows of the country's struggUng past. 
In paintings grand, against the walls are cast. 

Here clings the hour when first a sailor brave 
Had crossed Atlantic's wild, tempestuous wave. 
And in the perfume-laden winds unfurled 
Granada's banner in a new-found world. 



148 MINOR POEMS. 

The awe-struck natives flit among the trees, 
Watching the ship's sails fllHng in the breeze— 
The huge white birds, that strangely fluttered 

down. 
From Great Manitou's happy hunting ground. 

De Soto flrst beholds the murky tide 
Of Mississippi's waters, grandly wide. 
Beneath whose darksome, cold, and angry wave 
The gallant Spaniard found an unmarked 
grave. 

He heedeth not the lithe and naked form 
Of Indian maid in beauty, fresh and warm: 
But thrilled with wild ambition's dazzling 

dream, 
Greets, with a welcome glad, the noble stream. 

High over all, w^ithin the lofty dome — 

The helmet huge that crowneth Freedom's 

home — 
The. virgin States, in allegory grand. 
Are pictured by the limner's cunning hand. 



THE ROTUNDA. 149 

Here Pater Patriae, laurel-crowned and calm, 
And winged Triumph, bearing Victory's palm, 
With Liberty behold the noontide sun 
Shine bright upon "a multitude in one." 

And there, by noble Freedom's gleaming blade, 
Priestcraft and Kingly Power low are laid. 
And from her blows the broken hordes of War 
Flee sullenly, and Peace smiles from afar. 

Then Ceres comes, with plenty in her hand, 
The queen of ripening harvests in the land. 
And Flora gleans the freshest flowers there 
To deck her monarch's long and sunny hair. 

Beside his giant forge old Vulcan stands, 
His mighty sledge within his brawny hands, 
And molten sparks from 'neath the hammers 

start. 
Where sturdy smiths, about him, plv their art. 

From out the glowing east young Mercury flies 
To where Columbia's commerce drooping lies, 
And now prosperity has brightly dawned 
With but a wave of his caducean wand. 



150 



MINOR POEMS. 



In graceful beauty, ravishing and nude, 
Beaming with love, like maiden hap'ly wooed, 
Sweet Aphrodite, born of crisp sea foam. 
Floats up from out her mystic, coral home. 

She grasps within her dainty, dimpled hand, 
The line which links us to the mother-land, 
x\nd Neptune rises, wonder-struck and grim, 
And trident-armed, from Ocean's' rugged brim. 

Then wise Minerva, teacher of the laws. 
Of science and the arts, the curtain draws. 
And marches forth with regal, stately tread. 
Just as she sprang from Jove's imperial head. 

****** 

And thus the striking tableaux end, 
Where science, art and learning blend 
Their beauties with the graceful might 
That guides this nation in the right. 




"GYPSY." 



To My Sister NANNIE. 

/^H, yes! I'm gray, and bald, and old 
^•^ Not even blest with a little gold — - 
But that sweet girl, she loves me well, 
And why, you never could, ever tell. 

Ah, she is bright, and good, and fair. 
And sunlight lives in her eyes and hair: 
Yet both are black as noon of night — 
Her lips would tempt an anchorite. 



152 ^^GTPsrr 

And I love her, with all my soul — 

No pitiful love, like a miser's dole — 

My heart goes out to her as free 

x\s a home-bound ship on a homeward sea. 

And mine is a heart that's good and strong; 
Old as it is it carries no wrong; 
It has no crime nor sorrow to bear; 
'Tis clear as the pure, intrenchant air. 

Living are those who'll laugh at this; 
But what care I for a serpent's hiss? 
When snakes crawl near enough to feel, 
I quietly grind them under my heel. 

But let me now the riddle unfold, 
Why she loves me, so gray and old. 
And she so young, and bright, and fair, 
With sunlight in her eyes and hair. 

I came, a veteran soldier, back 
From war and desolation's track, 
And, with my sword, I brought along 
My minstrel harp, and soul and song. 



BABrS MORNING. 153 

She hung my sword in the old roof-tree, 
And came and sat upon my knee; 
"You are a poet," she said, "I know. 
And that is why I love you so." 

I am a man, and she a child. 
And with my story she's beguiled. 
For I'm a* doting old brother, you see, 
And she's a sister sweet to me. 



BABY'S MORNING. 



Y/^ THEN morning comes and sunlight 

streams 
In tender, soft and golden gleams, • 
And through the curtains dancing beams 

Steal coyly in the room. 
My baby wakes in grave surprise, 
And turns her great and wondering eyes 
Toward the shimmering matin dyes 

That tint the lilv bloom. 



-20 



154 MINOR POEMS. 

'Tis double morn to thee, sweet one— 
The morn of day and a Hfe begun — 
God grant thy day and life-time's sun 

May ever sweetly shine; 
That happiness without alloy, 
That cannot fail or ever cloy, 
And brightest rays of purest joy, 

May bless each hour of thine. 



COMING. 



To MY WIFE. 



/^VER the bay on the steamer, 
^^ At noon of a beautiful day, 
'Mid sights for a poet dreamer 
To dream of by the way. 

Out on the long pier, reaching 
Far in the blue of the water, 

Out where the gulls are screeching, 
Cometh my wife and daughter. 



COMING. 135 

Away from the land of flowers, 

Away from the Golden Gate, 
Where a grand young city towers, 

l^hey come, my darling and mate. 

Over the rock-ribbed mountains, 

White with the winter's snow, 
Along by the frozen fountains 

That in the moonlight glow, 

(Jver the hills and pampas, 

Where frost at morning gleams, 
Where the wild deer frighted scampers, 

Along by the babbling streams. 

They come to my arms, long waiting; 

Coming o'er hill and lea. 
On wings of love to the mating. 

Coming, thank God, to me. 

Whiz! oh wheels of the engine; 

Dive through tunnel and gorge, 
Swift as the fishing penguin — 

And sing as ahead you forge. 



MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. 



To STANLEY WOOD. 



-r^ THERE Nature's God hath roughest 
wrought, 

Where spring the purest fountains; 
Where, long ago, the Titans fought. 

And hurled for missiles, mountains: 
Where everlasting snows abide, 

And tempest clouds are driven 
Along the solid granite side 

Of yawning chasms, riven 
Deep in the Rockies' grandest pride, 

That lifts its head to Heaven; 

Amid the wilds, where awful rise 

The giant peaks, that fathom 
Night's starry depths and day's blue skies, 

And brood above the chasm, 
One monarch 'mongst the mighty hills 

Rears high his summit hoary. 



158 MINOR POEMS. 

Like some grim king, whose legend fills 

A page of olden story, 
And heart o'er-awes and soul enthrills. 

Before his regal glory. 

The Holy Cross of Christian faith, 

Above the royal velvet, 
In beauty shines, an emblem wraith, 

High on his beetling helmet; 
Its white arms stretching through the sheen 

Of silvery mist, are gleaming; 
A talisman, the world to screen, 

Hope's symbol, in its seeming; 
A wonder grand, a joy serene. 

Upon the ages beaming. 



THREE LIGHTS. 



FULL forty years have trudged along 
The dusty road of life. 
That I have followed with a song, 
And by it found a wife. 



THREE LIGHTS. 159 

And blessed little ones have come 

To sit upon my knee, 
And glad my heart with joyous hum 

Of playfulness and glee. 

Through every clime, 'neath many suns, 

I've chased the fickle dame 
Of Fortune, who so swiftly runs 

Ahead of wealth and fame. 

I've tugged upon the battle-field. 

And felt that sternest joy 
That comes to see the foeman yield 

To warrior — but a boy. 

I've stood before my fellowmen, 
And won their strong applause. 

And felt repaid in glory when 
I've won a righteous cause. 

I've clambered up the rugged steep 

And found the blooming plain; 
I've wept with those who needs must weep. 

And laughed with them again. 



i6o 



MINOR POEMS, 



I'ull forty years I've; triuloed along 

The dusty road of life, 
Hut alvva}'s sang a happy song 

"^Fo ease the endless strife. 

For in it all two things I've found 
\'ea, three, to cheer the way — 

A wife, a babe, a conscience sound. 
Will light the darkest day. 




WATCH NIGHT." 




lo C. F. R. HAY WARD, Dknm.k. 



TS time the Old Year's knell 
was rung; 
(Tin time the New Year's birth 
was sung; 
The dirge and song, together sing— 
"The King is dead. Long live the 
King." 
While sitting, pondering, to-night, 
Before my lamp's dull, flickering light. 
With drooping eyes and failing pen 
I wrote the aimless lines, and then. 
Fell fast asleep, and had a dream, 
And to my fancy this did seem : 



i62 MINOR POEMS, 

I. 

Within an antique grate a ruddy blaze 
Lit such a scene as memory might raise 
Of olden time; those grand baronial days 
That stories chronicle, and poets praise. 

II. 

Partaking of the lire's warmth and glare, 
An aged man sat, idly musing there — 
Mused of the once Hyperion locks, which, lo! 
Were whiter now than winter's drifted snow. 

III. 
Mused on the lines which time doth deftly trace 
Upon the whilom youthful heart and face. 
"Life" was the musing old man's well-known 

name — 
He whom so many love — so few can blame. 

IV. 

The night without is cold, and dark, and drear; 
Faint are the throbbings of the dying year; 
Within the room a heavy silence dwells; 
A ticking clock the ending moments tells. 



WA TCH NIGHT. 163 

V. 

A rush of passing wind, a wintry roar, 
Turns quick the old man's eyes toward the 

door; 
There, on the threshold, stands a phantom tall — 
A form whose mantle is a funeral pall. 

VI. 

His blanched locks upon his shoulders stray, 
And sadsome smiles upon his features play; 
"Be not dismayed," he said, "but calmly hear; 
I am the vision of the dying year. 

VII. 

"Behold this form that 'neath its burden bows; 
A load of lost and sadly broken vowts; 
I bear th}^ days and moments, unimproved. 
And on my face thy deeds have wrinkles 
grooved. 

VIII. 

"Thy golden chances, grossly thou'st abused; 
The evil chosen and the good refused; 



i64 MIA^OR POEMS, 

God's gifts exchanged for trifles light as air, 
And yet thy head wears age's whitened hair 

IX. 

"Awake! th}' dormant energies arouse, 
And in this sacred time renew thy vows; 
E'en now, the few remaining moments grasp — 
The hands on yonder dial almost clasp." 

X. 

Then casting on the dial a mingled gaze 
Of love and sadness, vanished. In amaze 
1 woke, and heard the belfry's clanging din 
Ringing the Old Year out, the New Year in. 



ALERE FLAMMAM. 



To DOUCJLASS and INA RHODES. 

/^AILY and merrily twang the strings 
^"^ Of poet's harp to-night, 
A,s he sits by his hearth and lightly sings 
Good wishes, true and bright. 



ALERE FLAMMAM. 165 

Wishes for you, who have just begun 

To live in the high estate 
That warm, true love has faithfully won, 

And led you two to mate. 

He wishes your home may an Eden be 

With naught to ever beguile: 
An Eden with no forbidden tree, 

Nor serpent there to defile. 

Or a well-trimmed bark on a favoring sea, 
And blessed with Fortune's smile, 

That shall sail to the port of Eternity, 
Unheeding the siren's wile. 

He wishes that you may live till you see 

A life both happy and long, 
And children's children at your knee — 

And this is the poet's song. 




THE QUAKER POET. 



To JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER. 

SHE poet's shell is oft attuned 
To sing a nation's songs, 
And honor to that minstrel's name 
By well-earned right belongs. 

Yea, any soul whose chords are touched 

By poesy's deft hand, 
Adds one more strain of harmony 

To heaven's choral band. 

And by a strong and glorious pen 

It hath been sweetly writ, 
That others take the dross of earth— 

With God the singers sit. 

Now unto thee, great Whittier, 

I sing this simple lay; 
Thou, who hast sung, with poet's powder, 

The chains of slaves away. 



i68 MINOR POEMS. 

Before thy numbers, wise and strong, 

A people's shackles burst. 
And on their scroll of noblest friends, 

Th}^ name is written first. 

Full many a poor and suffering soul 
Hath thanked thee for the word 

That turned an angel toward the door 
Where need had wept unheard. 

I cannot chord my tiny harp 

In unison with thee. 
Nor sing the blessings thou hast wrought. 

On land and on the sea. 

The sweetest singers of them all. 

And blended into one, 
Could never tell, in words of ours, 

The good that thou hast done. 

But fain would I this tribute bring. 

And lay it at thy feet; 
In worth 'tis but the widow's mite — 

I wish it were as meet. 



THE S^NGERFEST. 




AA.' 



To PHILIP ZEHNER, Sr., of Cheyenne. 

USIC sweet, music wild, 
Music everywhere; 
Music grand and glorious, 

Sounding in the air. 
Whence come all these charming 
strains. 

Whence these happy, rich refrains? 
'Tis the singers of the east. 
Come to make a music feast. 
And the singers of the west 
At the German Ssengerfest. 

Land of Goethe; land of Schiller; 

Land of glorious song. 
Where Beethoven and the Mozart 
Famously belong. 
Sends these singers o'er the sea 
With their roundelays of glee; 

— 22 



lyo 



MINOR POEMS. 



From "der faderland" they come, 
Making this their welcome home, 
And the echoes of the west 
Reverberate the Ssengerfest. 



THE WORKMEN'S WAY. 



To T. J. MEEK, St. Eouis, Mo. 

tIFE'S journey leads us 
many ways. 
O'er valley, hill and plain, 
By babbling brook, through 

quaggy bog. 
And fields of golden grain, 
And here and there a path 
leads off— 
A tempting, shining way — 
And many thoughtless brothers turn, 
To find themselves astrav. 

•The lowering clouds oft gather 'round 
The 'luring path so light, 




THE WORKMEN'S WAY. 171 

And darkness spreads her murky pall 

In one unending night. 
Then lost in night, and in the world 

By far more sadly lost 
Are they than those wrecked far at sea, 

On angry billows tossed. 

But blest are they who journey on, 

With hand in brother's hand; 
Receiving strength and giving aid — 

A strong and loving band. 
The weary track is easier then, 

The rough road smoother grows; 
And thorns are cleared from off the way, 

And b}^ it blooms the rose. 

Dear Charity, the guiding star 

Of all our walks below. 
Shall light us ever in the right. 

To where God's waters flow. 
And Hope, the beaming angel one. 

Will shed her spirit through 
And warm each heart with fervent faith. 

And blessings 'mong us strew. 



172 MINOR POEMS. 

'Tis thus our Ancient Order aims 

To honor him who delves 
With spirit true and faithful heart, 

And helps us help ourselves. 
And sweet assurance, too, it gives. 

That when we've gone before, 
We'll leave, with loved ones left behind, 

Protection at the door. 



A MEMORY AND A TEAR. 



> / IS noon of night, and from a long, lone 

(D walk, 

Tve come to sit me down and meditate: 
To croon and ponder, musing with myself; 
To mumble, in an old man's piping way. 

That walk had been a hard and wearv one, 
Had I been 'companied by other thoughts 
Than those which held me as I strolled adown 
The wintry street — the hushed and quiet street, 
Save for the restless wind, that blowing- light. 



* A MEMORY AND A TEAR. 173 

Listless and wanton, thro' the bare-armed trees, 
Made music fitting to my reverie. 
So deep, and reaching to the past. 
That being once again a boy, my limbs 
Forgot the years they've marched along beside 
Since lusty youth, in roseate glow, was mine. 

In all the'years, since then, I've seen the world 
On many sides, and felt its jagged points. 
As rolling in swift motion, on its poles. 
It grinds the face of those who do not wear 
Protecting Fortune's mask, impierceable. 

I've sat within the shade of orange groves, 
And heard, in low and sweet and witching 

strains. 
Some far-off music, as of siren songs. 
Weird-like, from wooded shores of placid lakes. 
Soft o'er the listening waters steal along. 

I've borne the cold of arctic heights, and 

dragged. 
Half famished, o'er the sands of desert plains, 



174 MINOR POEMS, 

And striv'n in solitude, annid the wilds 
And gloom of awful desolation lost. 

I've stood upon a lonely isle, far out 
Amid the sea, and yearning, hopeful, watched 
The waste to catch a sight of saving sail. 
And day by day saw, but with growing dread. 
The crawling canyons of the deep upheave. 

But in it all I've had a holy, sweet. 
And blessed memory to abide with me — 
My strong young manhood's tirst and cherished 
love. 

And here's a great and faithful tear; one lone. 
True, tender friend, of bright and bygone years 
That, some decades ago, held in their arms 
The long-lost love that I beheld to-night. 
So far away, and yet so vividly, 
Adown life's wonder-sided vista dim. 

Welcome thou art, my fellow mourner, here 
Beside the grave of buried hopes; welcome, 
Thou sweet and pure good comforter of mine; 



A MEMORY AND A TEAR. 175 

And mayst tliou come again, sometime, to me, 
For with thee comes a gentle, tender touch 
Of pity for myself, that softeneth, 
As with an angel's kind and soothing ways, 
A heart that hath no other pain so sweet: 
A heart that crying, bleeding with it all, 
Hugs the strong anguish, for the blessed jo\^ 
It gave, when that young love was all the world. 
And Heaven, so pure it was, and blissful. 




THE IMMERSION, 



l"() Kiv. I). L. RAI)l<:i{. 

SHE Sabbath evening's sunsliine streams 
In tender, soft and golden gleams, 
^riirougli early spring-time's half el. id trees, 
That shiver in the ehillint»' breeze. 

Down where the Kaw glides gracefully along, 
Beside the stream a joyous little throng 
Is gathered on the wave-washed, pebbly shore, 
^Fhe Jordan Gate to God's Forever more. 

Clad in a loose and llowing gown. 
An aged minister goes down, 
With cautious step, and staff in hand, 
From where his congregation stand. 

And sounds the rushing waters till they gird 
His waist, and lave his long and snowy beard; 
He then returning lifts his streaming e^^es, 
Tn holy prayer, toward the upper skies. 



THE IMMERSION. 177 

Now as he leads a convert in — 
Toward his God — ^away from sin, 
A song of joy the silence breaks, 
And echo from the hills awakes. 

The song is hushed and Christian hearts rejoice, 
As o'er the stream the old man's feeble voice 
Is heard, in distant, deep, and solemn tone. 
Sweet as the wind harp's melancholy moan. 

And in the name of God, and Son, 
And Holy Spirit^ — Three in One — 
The sinner sinks beneath the wave, 
And grasps the pearl the Saviour gave. 

And now the joyous band upon the shore 
Sing louder, louder, sweeter than before. 
And 'cross the stream another happy throng- 
Catch up the swelling chorus of the song. 

And faintly o'er the waters wide 
Like vesper hymn, the echoes ride. 
Till up they roll, through heaven's open door. 

And swell the music there forevermore. 

—23 



BETWEEN THE OAK AND ELM. 



To GEORCJE GASTOX, Esq., of Kansas City. 

/^UT on the skirts of a brave young town, 
My friend has built his quiet home — 
Out of the reach of the surf and foam 
Of the surging sea of life around. 

On a lofty hill, rough, grand and steep. 
Whose beetling face looks sternly down, 
As in an ever-dark'ning frown. 

To where Missouri's waters sleep. 

Below a sister city lies. 

From out whose strong and throbbing heart 
The blood of commerce fresh doth start, 

And through its iron arteries flies. 

And far beyond the opposing hills. 
Across the river's sleeping tide. 
Where gallant steamers nobly ride. 

The bloom-decked plain the picture fills. 



THE OAK AND ELM. lyp 

A happy man — if such there hves — 
Must be my noble, hearty friend. 
No little grief his soul should bend, 

For he has all that Fortune gives. 

An oak — a monarch of the wood — 
An elm-tree grand, of haughty mien. 
His little cottage stands between, 

As safe as ever castle stood. 

His wife, a young and girlish joy. 
Makes full each day his cup of bliss. 
With many a sweet caress and kiss. 

And laugh, and jest so gay and coy. 

And that their lives be thus, along 
The oft-time rugged path of life. 
Full free from every care and strife. 

Shall be the prayer that ends my song. 




Twenty Years Ago. 



TWENTY YEARS AGO. 



To LEONORA BARNES. 



T sat to-night, by a pale, sad light. 

Dejected, lone and wan. 
Till memory brought a happy thought 

Of twenty years agone; 
A thought most sweet that came to greet 

That time of roseate glow, 
'Mid shining rays of halcyon days. 

Now twenty years ago. 

It lit the gloom, and filled the room 

With mem'ries bright and gay. 
And banished pain, and once again 

Drove sullen Care away. 
I thought of you, so good and true. 

And Katie, now laid low. 
And Pleasure's prime, in the golden time 

Of twenty years ago. 



i82 MINOR POEMS, 

Dear Katie's soul has found the goal 

Where angels rest above; 
Her voice is blent, in chorus lent 

To songs of purest love; 
She wears a crown, and yet looks down 

To loved ones left below, 
With smiling face and same sweet grace 

Of twenty years ago. 

God grant that we, left of the three. 

May meet on earth again, 
'Mid all the joy, without alloy. 

That troops in Friendship's train ; 
Then we'll recall the pleasures all 

That now through mem'ry flow, 
And live them o'er and many more. 

Like twenty years ago. 




AWAKE THE HARP. 



To JOHN L. MURRAY, Cheyenne. 



^ WAKE the harp of Ireland, 
^'^ The symbol of her fall; 
Upon her sod take noble stand, 

And sound dear Freedom's call; 
Brush off the dust that centuries 

Upon its strings have flung. 
And wake the proud old memories 
Of which her bards have sung. 

Now strain the chords to harmony. 

And strike them bold and free, 
For Erin and her liberty, 
The gem beyond the sea. 



iS4 



MINOR POEMS. 



Though fiiint the ray of hope now gleams, 

From Erin's cloud-hid sky, 
'Twill burst yet iu effulgent streams 

J)y grace from Ilim on high. 
Once more her sons, brave, warlike, bold, 

Will write a page of glory, 
And wear again the collar of g<^ld, 

Renowned in olden story. 

America, the freeman's land, 

Looks with approving smile 
Upon the gallant Fenian band 

Who love the Emerald Isle; 
And who with old llibernia's power 

Will dash the lion down. 
And once again revive her hour 

Of glory and renown. 





To HKLKN DLVniK. 

SHE gallant knight, in days of old, 
Sang gaily flagon songs; 
The monarch drained his cup of gold 
And laughed his people's wrongs; 
With goblets, flowing to the brim, 

Bacchantes drink their wine, 
But no alluring rosy rim 

l^rings song to harp of mine. 

Yet notes of memory sweetly come 

In songs I love to sing, 

Of hearty, healthy bumpers, from 

The gourd beside the spring. 
—24 



jS6 MINOh' roEMS. 

The soldier Ioncs his oUl iaiilccn, 

And sounds in son;^ ils |)iais(.'; 
'^riu' lover lo.'isls his nnslrcss (|uc"C'n 

In vviiu'-bi'<^(>lU'n lays; 
'\\w soul ol poc'sx^s oulpouic'd 

Alike lo cup and kinj^. 
And all forget iIk' brown old ;^()urd 

TIk'n draid< IVom al the spiinj^. 

There's happiness in bancpiel halls, 

Amid the hiiohl and ^ay, 
Wliei"e ])rillianl son«> the soul enlhialls, 

And w'il and wine hold sway: 
Hut all the joys in nieinor\ stored 

No sweetei- thought can bring 
'^riiaii those of ch'au^hls IVoni out tlie l;(>iii(1, 

Witli Nell, l)eside the spiin;^. 



PARADOX, 



To IHANK 1K)\I). 



T saw Ji poor oUl toper stand 

At break of day, one chilly morn — 
In this, our free, enlightened land. 
An abject slave, distressed, forlorn — 
Stand chilled, and aching to the core, 
Before an open doggery door. 
And while within he trembling gazed — 
His nerves unstrung and reason dazed — 

Upon the liquids at the bar. 
He said, in voice of yearning raised, 
"Thou art so near and yet so far." 

A little later on I saw 

A poor and ragged, starving wretch, 
Stand shivering in the air so raw. 
Before the broad, inviting stretch 
Of cafe window, richly filled 
With meat and game, but freshly killed, 
And quail and poultry, neatly dressed. 



i88 MINOR POEMS. 

And trimmed and garnished,water-cressed, 
A tempting menu for a czar — 

The ragged man the sight addressed, 
"Thou art so near and yet so far." 

I saw a bankrupt, standing where 

His yearning eyes could plain behold 
A mass of jewels, rich and rare, 
And stacks of silver and of gold; 

He thought of bright and happy days. 
Of business brisk and prosperous ways. 
And then of creditors and debt. 
And duns, which now his path beset; 

His paper, worse than under par; 
And cried, in tones of deep regret, 
"Thou art so near and yet so far." 

I heard a sighing lover plead 

For pity from his favored fair. 
He swore she was his faith and creed 
And praised her eyes and auburn hair; 
He knelt and prayed, and raved and tore, 
And wept and shed his tears, galore. 



PARADOX. i8g 

She melted not to see him so, 
But gave a strong, persistent "no." 

Then, while he watched his fading star, 
He groaned as he beheld her go, 

"Thou art so near and yet so far." 

I saw a soldier, old and lame. 

Go begging for his daily bread; 
I saw a poet strive for fame. 

Who won it — after he was dead. 
The world is full of gold and gear. 
Of health, and gold, and goodly cheer, 
Yet poverty and dire distress 
Prevail among us none the less. 

And hearts will sigh, that wear a scar. 
And lips that Dead Sea apples press, 
"Thou art so near and yet so far." 

'Twas ever thus, that those who need 

The most of pity and of aid — 
And often those of greatest meed — 

Good Fortune doth the most evade. 
The tickle dame will grind and rasp 



i(^o MINOR POEMS. 

The hand that seeks her toys to grasp; 
'Tis he who delves the hardest way 
Who wins a grudged and meager pay. 

So here I loll, with my cigar, 
While others whine their "lack-a-day," 

"Thou art so near and yet so far." 



RECOMPENSE. 



SHE whistle gave its signal shriek; 
The bell in warning measure rang; 
The iron links complained, and eke 

The heavy wheels their rail-beats sang. 

The pond'rous train moved slowly on. 
Till, reaching yon broad stretch of plain, 

It flew toward the east, and gone, 
My love left me, in tears again. 

1 cursed the train that bore away 
The darling, all I love, from me — 

•l^ut list! I bless the same to-day. 

For that will take me, sweet, to thee. 




TOT'S BIT. 



To J. C. BAIKD, Ksu, 

>"7~IS seldom little Tot has coin— 
viJ He's only a poor man's son- 
But Charity, with all her friends, 
May count dear Tot as one. 



ig2' MINOR POEMS. 

Tot had a "bit" not long ago, 
This winsome, weesome elf — 

Perhaps some grown-up friend of his 
Knows where he got the pelf. 

The little toddler scrambled down 

The steps that very day, 
A candy shop full in his mind, 

That stood just over the way. 

He saw a man, outside the gate. 

So ragged, pale and sad, 
That Tot in sympathy stood still 

And eyed the dime he had. 

A selfish thought came rudely first, 

But Charity was there. 
"Here, tate the bit," he softly said, 
"An' dit some tose to wear. 

"An' buy some food an' tate it home. 

An' feed yo' babies too." 
Poor little Tot had mighty thoughts 

Of what a dime could do. 



LOVE'S AGONY, 193 

"'Tvvas only a little thing," you say? , 

But Tot's a little boy, 
And that was Hke the widow's mite, 

And Tot's his father's joy. 



LOVE'S AGONY. 



Ii-li liebc dich, so musz Ich weinen hitterlich.— Gct-the. 



T love you so it makes me cry ; 
^ My heart is welling, and I sigh 

The whole day long. 
Sometimes I "think that I must fly 
To where you are, or slowly die — 

And this is wrong — 
Will some sweet angel tell me why? 

Oh! why should I love her Hke this 
And be denied one little kiss, 

Or happy hope? 
What holds me back, that thus I miss 
The meed and measure of the bliss 

For which I cope. 

While flames of love around me hiss? 

—25 



ig4- MINOR POEMS. 

Ah! thou art here, sweet angel; stay 
And help me live, till I can pray 

To lose this woe. 
Then take the burning love away, 
And guard me safely, night and day, 

And soothe me so 
That I'll forget the siren's sway. 



THREE WISHES. 



44 TJT AD you a wish, that might come true, 
JL What would you wish?" said Tillie; 

"I'd wish that I were sweet as you," 
Gallantly answered Willie. 

"And what w^ould you?" said she to Ben; 

The answer came, demurely — 
"I'd wish for gold — I'd win you then. 

And break Will's heart as surely." 

"And I," said she, with smile so sweet 
It flushed her beauty's brightness. 



IMPROMPTU. igs 

"Would wish that all whom I may meet 
Would treat me with politeness." 

How strange, and yet how very true, 

The sweetest and the fairest 
Of earthly blessings — freest too^ — 

We, blindly, make the rarest. 



IMPROMPTU. 



To HUGO E. BUECHNER. 



TN the still and the noon of the night 

I hear the tick of the clock, 
As I muse by the flickering light 
And list to the time unlock. 

In the buzz and the hum of the day. 
The tick of the clock is unheard. 

But, nevertheless, it sings alway 
Its changeless good-bye word, 

To moments consigned to the past — 
The moments of time, that unfold 

The way to the open door at the last, 
And the gate to the life untold. 




THE SILVER GRAYS. 



To Hon-. HOMER MliRRILL, ok Rawlins, Wyo. 

SHE sable curtain of tlie night 
Is lifted in the glowing east, 
And in the rosy morning light 
A young man rises from a feast. 

"Boyhood is gone," said he to those 
Who stood around him there, 

"And inward come the tidal flows 
Of Age and all its care. 

"Youth's bright illusions all are past. 

And duty bids me go 
And build a home to rest at last, 

When Hfe's chill winds shall blow." 



THE SILVER GRAYS. ig7 

Beside him through the wilderness, 

His dear and sweet young wife 
Is ever there, with lov^e's caress; 

The solace of his life. 

Among the dim old forest aisles. 

Across the bloomless plain. 
And 'mong the mountain's wild defiles. 

Their weary way is lain. 

Onward, toward the setting sun. 

They work their toilsome way, 
Which opening 'fore his axe and gun, 

In shines the eastern da\-. 

Now here to-day some old folks stand, 

The brave, the strong, the true. 
Who settled up this shining land, 

And some are 'neath the yew. 

May honors, peace and plenty dwell, 

Through all their coming days. 
With these good folks we love so well, 

The dear old Silver Gravs. 




To Hon. F. E. WARREN, Gov. of Wyoming. 

|N olden walls, in memory's 
halls, 
With roses 'round it clinging, 
A picture rare, of antique air, 
The old log church is swinging. 

Of timbers rough, and gnarled and tough, 

It stands in rustic beauty, 
A monument to good intent 

And loyal. Christian duty. 

The forest trees, kissed by the breeze 

Of early autumn weather. 
Stand grimly by, and seem to sigh 

And bend their boughs together. 



THE OLD LOG CHURCH. igg 

They seem to feel that woodman's steel 

Will come to end their glory, 
And whisper low, and soft and slow, 

Among their leaves, the story. 

Down by the mill, and up the hill, 

And through the hazel thicket, 
And o'er the mead, brown pathways lead 

Up to the rustic wicket. 

And by these ways, on holy days. 

The village folk collected, 
And humbly heard the Sacred Word, 

And worshipped unaffected. 

Sweet Fancy's art and poet's heart 

Can see the old-time preacher 
And village sage, now^ turn the page 

As minister, or teacher. 

For in the church, with dreaded birch. 

On week-days he presided, 
In awful mien, a tutor seen, 

'Twixt lore and licks divided. 




lo Hon. F. E. WARREN, Gov. of Wyoming. 



/^N olden walls, in memory's 
^ halls, 



With roses 'round it clinging, 
A picture rare, of antique air, 
The old log church is swinging. 

Of timbers rough, and gnarled and tough, 

It stands in rustic beauty, 
A monument to good intent 

And loyal. Christian duty. 

The forest trees, kissed by the breeze 

Of early autumn weather. 
Stand grimly by, and seem to sigh 

And bend their boughs together. 



777^ OLD LOG CHUBCH. igg 

They seem to feel that woodman's steel 

Will come to end their glory, 
And whisper low, and soft and slow. 

Among their leaves, the story. 

Down by the mill, and up the hill. 

And through the hazel thicket. 
And o'er the mead, brown pathways lead 

Up to the rustic wicket. 

And by these ways, on holy days. 

The village folk collected. 
And humbly heard the Sacred Word, 

And worshipped unaffected. 

Sweet Fancy's art and poet's heart 

Can see the old-time preacher 
And village sage, now turn the page 

As minister, or teacher. 

For in the church, with dreaded birch. 

On week-days he presided. 
In awful mien, a tutor seen, 

'Twixt lore and licks divided. 



200 MINOR POEMS. 

But where it stood, in dappled wood, 

A city sprang to life. 
And jolly noise of barefoot boys 

Is lost in business, rife. 

With years now flown, the children, grown, 
Are launched on life's mad billows; 

The pretty maid is matron staid, 
The master's neath the willows. 



A MINER'S MEMORY. 



-^D IG warning drops, like skirmishers, 

"^2^ Rattle amid the bowers; 

The wind weeps through the pines and firs 

In the stillicide of showers; 
I sit in the hut and hearken 

To the voices of the storm. 
And I watch the mountain darken. 

While I keep thy memory warm. 

'Delving day by day for treasure. 

Locked within these vaults of stone, 



TOT'S TELEGRAPH. 201 

While I hum a homely measure 

That I've sung to you alone, 
Day and night, and ever singing. 

Comes a minstrel fay from thee. 
And on memory's bells he's ringing 

Songs of love you've sung to me. 



TOT'S TELEGRAPH. 



44/^OME, show me, dear Granny, 

v^ Which way she did go; 
My sweet little cousin, 

Who loved me so. 
Ten hundred miles away? 

Over the plains? 
Across the high mountains? 

Through snow and the rains? 
Oh! it was long ago 

She went away. 

And every big hour 

Seems just like a day. 
—26 



202 MINOR POEMS. 

"Let me go call again 

My very best, 
And maybe my cousin, 

Way oft in the west, 
Where days go a-hiding, 

Will hear me, and then 
I know she'll come, Granny, 

Quick as she can. 
She'd like to see Tottie, 

I know. Granny dear. 
So let me go tell her 

We want her back here." 

Thus plead little Tottie, 

A wee four-year-old. 
Blue-eyed and handsome. 

With curls of bright gold. 
He has heard that his father 

Can talk every day 
To men across oceans. 

Far, far away; 
Then why shouldn't he 



KITTY CO TLB, 203 

Have a line of his own, 
To send her a message — 
His love who has flown. 



KITTY COYLE. 



KOW the woods are fresh and green, 
Kitty Coyle, 
Let us seek their verdant sheen, 

Kitty Coyle, 
And while an hour away 
Of the beauteous summer day 
'Mid the sweets that cannot stay, 

Kitty Coyle, 
For my muse you do invoke. 
And my heart is almost broke 
With the love you do provoke, 

Kitty Coyle. 

In the tresses of your hair, 

Kitty Coyle, 
My heart you did ensnare, 

Kitty Coyle, 



204 MTNOR POEMS. 

And ill the cliarmino- liolu 

Of your eyes so deep and brij^ht 

My heart is buried tjuite, 

Kitty Coyle, 
And I see within the hue 
Ol their heaven-tinted bhie 
^I\) haj^i^iness a clue, 

Kitty Coyle. 

I low bitter sweet is love, 

Kitty Coyle, 
'I'hal passion Ironi above, 

Kitty Coyle, 
And tiiis moment while 1 kneel, 
What e.xcpiisite jo\ I feel 
In my heart so warm ami leal, 

Kitty Coyle, 
Oh! ril sutler endless pain. 
And ril nexcr smile a<;ain, 
if my love ^ou tlo disdain, 

l\ill\ Coyle. 




ITA EST. 

I walked by the sea and 

picked up a shell, 
Thrown out on the scalloped 
shore, 
And I listened to hear what it could 
tell— 
It crooned the city's dull roar. 
I threw it, far back, in the foaming sea; 

Its song was a dreary drone; 
A story of sorrow and pain, to me — 
The memory of a moan. 

Some flowers, that grew by the homeward way, 

I plucked as I strolled along; 
They drooped and died with the waning day, 

And end of a vesper song. 

'Tis easy to keep a glittering sin — 

They last until cast aside; 
But fair, sweet prizes, we glorify in. 
We've gathered and they have died. 




A FANTASY. 



To MY MOTHER. 



/^UR noble craft was gliding down 
^■^ The river, dark and seething; 
I paced the deck, and memories sweet 
Came gently o'er me stealing. 

The darksome clouds had cleared away, 
The stars were brightly twinkling. 

And in the distance sweetly chimed 
The far-off herd-bell's tinkling. 



A FANTASr. 207 

And from me to the distant shore, 

In radiant beauty beaming, 
A path of Hght upon the tide 

Was clearly, softly, streaming. 

It was as if the waters dark 

Had stolen all the gladness 
That shines from Luna's kindly face, 

And left it full of sadness. 

As, fast or slow, the boat rode on, 

Still in the waters glimmering, 
From off the starboard guard, this Hght 

Danced, clear and bright and shimmering. 

While gazing on the weird-like scene, 

A beauteous vision lightly 
Stepped on the path, and toward me came — 

An angel, fair and signtly. 

Oh ! what a moment to my soul 
Was that when she was near me: 

Before my raptured eves there stood 
My sister, loved so dearly. 



2o8 MINOR POEMS. 

I sought to hold her in my arms — 
My mother's long-lost daughter — 

But smiling with good-bye, she sank 
Beneath the gurgling water. 



L'AMOUR. 



T love to love; 'tis youth itself — 
The fount De Soto sought — 
But with no kingly power or pelf 
Is love's sweet solace bought. 

Just yesterday I tottered 'long 

A dreary, weary way. 
Crooning a rickety, droning song, 

Like some old harper's lay. 

I, wondering, thought of growing old. 
And why? with heart so strong? 

But trudged along the cheerless wold 
Humming the rickety song. 

'Twas lack of love — the death of soul- 

For Love is, true, a boy. 
I met the boy and quaffed his bowl. 

Found you and youth and joy. 



BEN LELAND. 



To B. F. ZALLINGER, ok Denver. 



"Jx minstrel old, but not like those 

Who live in olden story, 
Who touched the harp and sweetly sang 
Of knightly deeds and glory ; 

A minstrel old, who sang the songs 

Of Pompey and of Sambo, 
And tuned his voice in concert with 

The quaint old thrumming banjo; 

A minstrel old, whose quips and quirks 

And burlesque recitation, 
Convulsed the gathered crowds that heard 

Their humorsome relation; 

Who, in his drifting, tossed about 

And by misfortune bandied, 
At last caught on a foreign shore. 

All homeless, friendless, stranded — 

—27 



210 MINOR POEMS. 

His only help the old banjo — 

Eked out his sad existence. 
Alone, sweet memory showed him home, 

And blotted out the distance. 

In Britain's capital, one night, 
A minstrel band was singing, 

And through the hall, in mellow notes, 
"Kentucky Home" was ringing. 

And as the numbers died away 
The old man sat and listened, 

While in his dim and failing eyes 

Fond memory's tear-drops glistened. 

"Sing it once more," he trembling cried. 

And all the people started. 
As if the strange old man had ris'n 

From 'mongst the long departed. 

The minstrel band sang once again, 
And when the song was ended 

The old man's song, with that refrain. 
In hope beyond had blended. 



DAY DREAMS. 



To Mv Angel Sister. 




SHERE hangs within my 
lonely room, 
A picture, deftly shaded. 
Of trees and flowers, all in bloom, 

'Mid day that's scarcely faded. 
The prospect toward the horizon 
Is tinged with vapors golden, 
Where day's last rays are thrown upon 
A forest, wild and olden. 

The picture hangs before the chair 

Where sat I, lately, dreaming. 
And in it, 'mid the foliage there 

An angel's form, in seeming, 
Arose upon sweet Fancy's wings 

And gave me kindly greeting; 
'Tis your dear face that vision brings — 

I'm waiting its repeating. 



I I 



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i-i 



Will. M. Garrard. 



COME, DREAMS. 



To Dk. W. M. GARRARD. 



/^II leagues! Oh leagues of mountain waste 
^^ That lie between my love and me! 
Come, Sleep, with swift and blessed haste, 

And span the rugged sea; 
Come, Dreams! Oh Dreams! I long for thee 
To bring my idol back to me. 

'Tis true, my darling baby love — 

My heart, my treasure and my soul — 

The loving Father, up above, 
In sleep doth lead us to the goal 

Where, dreaming, I'm caressing thee. 

And dreaming thou art kissing me. 

Through all the dreary, weary day. 

In all my waking hours, 
I sigh along the heavy way 

That lies between this love of ours; 
But we can meet in dream-land bowers 
And gather there love's sweetest flowers. 



A DREAM. 



To Hon. S. C. BASCOM, of Kentucky. 

^^NCE on a balmy summer day 

I bade my cumbering cares adieu, 
And wandered from my darksome way 
To scenes of fairer, brighter hue. 

I rambled through a shady wood, 

Where, oft in childhood I'd been told. 

Lived elfin people, pure and good, 
And where a mystic river rolled. 

As darkness gathered o'er the earth, 
And bright stars glittered in the sky. 

When all the birds had ceased their mirth, 
And nature hushed her lullaby, 

I kneeled beside a gnarled old tree. 

Upon a soft and mossy bank, 
•And soon, in happy reverie. 

My troubled spirit sweetly sank. 



A DREAM. 213 

Then, on the zephyrs borne along, 

And echoing through the sylvan aisles, 

I heard this sweet melodious song: 

"Dame Fortune comes with sunny smiles." 

She came and brought a golden cup, 
Filled from pellucid Lethe's stream. 

And gave it me that I might sup 
Till Fancy spread a cheerful dream. 

I drank, and straightway rose a scene 
Such as no mortal eye e'er scanned; 

Sweet fairies danced upon a green. 
To music from a daisy band. 

Methought, that 'mid the fairy throng 
I saw my loved one sporting there. 

And heard her cheery, winsome song 
Ring sweetly on the moonlit air. 

And happiness without alloy 

Beamed from her blue eye's soul-lit ra}^; 
Her soul seemed flowing o'er with joy — 

The bonnie, blithesome, blessed fay. 




; « ^^-=-(^6, 




EDGAR WILLIS NYE. 



I've watched thy conspicuity, 
It's growth and continuity, 
And wished thy contiguity, 



Bill Nye. 



I've enjoyed thy lucidity 
And thine artless timidity, 
Combined with intrepidity. 



Like pie. 



No other man's jocundity 
Plath near so much profundity, 
Nor yet the same rotundity, 

Bill Nye. 

And thou findest it lucriferous — - 
The same as, argentiferous — 
While the cheering is vociferous. 

Aye, aye. 



220 HUMOROUS RHYMES. 

But now, discarding levity, 
Assuming proper brevity — 
I wish to thee longevity. 

Bill Nye. 

And I'm praying rever-ent-ly 
That the sweet subse-quent-l}- 
Will deal with thee most gently. 

Bye, bye. 



O'KEEFE OF PIKE'S PEAK. 



SHOU art gone from our gaze, O'Keefe, 
And the order that took you's a thief. 
Your lies will be missed. 
And the man will be hissed 
Who tries to come up to O'Keefe. 

In pseudology you are the chief. 
And also the blooming cap-sheaf. 
We stand up in line 

And shed tears of brine 

« 

Because you are going, O'Keefe. 



NO! NO! NO! 221 

There's nothing can measure this grief — 
We are wrecked on Sorrow's cold reef — 

As a magnific liar, 

None ever stood higher 
Than you, the colossal O'Keefe. 



iNO! NO! NO! 



-^3 E your wife, my gallant beau? 
^^ I'd smile to murmur, no, no, no. 
Do I love you? Yes indeed- - 
That's a main point in my creed. 
But I'm too young to marry yet. 
And much to utter fly, you bet. 
M}' married sisters. Sue and Nell, 
Were each a sweet and dashing belle; 
Their husbands are the best of men — 
Jolly Joe and royal Ben — 
But Sue and Nell don't ride about. 
And go to concert, ball and rout. 
And harvest fun and see the plays 
As in their blessed single days. 



222 



HUMOROUS RHYMES. 



And as your humble servant does, 
With beau and brother, friend and coz. 
Somehow, a hubby thinks his wife 
Should shed her shell and change her life, 
And quite forego all maiden bliss 
Because she's simply doffed the Miss. 
I love you, Jim, my gallant beau, 

But w^e'll not marry, no, no, no. 

******** 

Just what I said! See there! See there! 
Now listen to my Jimmie swear. 
And now he stalks across the floor, 
And rushes out and bangs the door. 
My married sisters, Nell and Sue, 
Say that's just like their hubbies do. 
I much dislike to lose my beau. 
But we'll not marry, no, no, no. 




HANNAH McGLUE. 



To A. IDHLMAX. 

-^5 V a little white cot, where prairie flowers 

"^^ Grow nearly in at the door. 

And fairies at night, in their tiny bowers, 

Sing low to each elhn wooer; 
Where under the stars, like diamonds glisten 

As bright as the stars, the dew, 
When all the birds to the whippoorwill listen; 

'Twas there I met Hanner McGlue. 

Htr hair is as black as tlie night raven's pinion; 

Her v^oice is the lark's sweet song. 
My heart is her slave, her dutiful minion. 

In fetters of love bound strong. 
Her eyes are bright and wondrously witchin', 

Of Heaven's deep beauteous blue; 
And her love, dear love, I am ever so rich in. 

My darling sweet Hanner McGIue. 

One night when the bright crescent moon was 
shining 
So softly in at the door. 



224 HUMOROUS RHYMES. 

And vines 'round the trellis were tenderly 
twining, 

I told her my love o'er and o'er. 
She promised me then she'd be mine forever — 

M}^ own, sweet, loving and true — 
I'll never be sad again, never, no never,* 

I've won my dear Hanner McGlue. 



*That is, h y e r. 



A SKIMMER. 



K 



I'o IIARHY DEUEL, ok Omaha. 

S you journey through life. 
With its joy and its strife, 
Its sorrows, and blessings, and pain. 
The lights of the day, 
Or the shades on the way. 
Its earnings, or losses or gain; 
You'll rind ere you've ran 
The short little span 



A SKIMMER. 225 

That leads to where Zion's lights glimmer, 

There's nothing so true 

As what I tell you — 
"There's a great many holes in a skimmer." 

The young and the old 

This truth may unfold, 
That things cannot always go right. 

Sometimes you'll be sure 

That your friend is as pure 
As streaks of the sun's brightest light. 

But as clouds may arise 

To darken the skies, 
And the bright light of noon may grow dimmer, 

In the first flush of youth 

You may learn this sad truth: 
"There's a great many holes in a skimmer." 

But brace up yourself 

And gather your pelf, 

The best friend's a dollar or two; 

'Twill prove you indeed 

A true friend in need, 
—29 



226 HUMOROUS RHYMES. 

As fervent as Heaven's deep blue; 

Then as you go 'long 

Remember this song — 
Just make it your text-book and primer; 

You'll never regret, 

If you never forget — 
"There's a great many holes in a skimmer.' 



OUT WEST. 



To ALFRED JACKSON, Esq. 

TT makes no odds from vs^hence you came, 

Nor what your family rates; 
In fact we care not what your name 

Formerly was in "the States." 
Just settle down and do the square. 

And try your level best 
To be an honest man, and fair. 

If you want to grow up in the -West. 

It is not name, or style, or stale. 
That pulls men through out here; 



MY GIRL. 227 

None of these things will make you great 

In many a lingering year; 
But walk a chalk, and bear a hand 

To help a needy guest; 
Pay up your debts and show your sand, 

If you want to grow^ up with the West. 

On mountains, plains, and rugged brooks 

Here's room for all the world — 
Except the dudes and cranks and crooks — 

And "Welcome's" flag's unfurled. 
A man who keeps the "Silver Rule" 

Will always stand the test; 
A chap from any meaner school 

Is apt to "go up" in the West. 



MY GIRL. 



To FRANK H. CLARK. 



NO, she's not an angel — not a bit, 
And, truly I don't care — not a whit; 
'Pon honor I am glad. 
But I fear 'twould make her sad 
That I said it — if not mad — saucy kit. 



228 HUMOROUS RHYMES. 

Now, wouldn't I look sweet, mister man, 
With an angel on my arm? — 'twouldn't pan, 

A-going to a ball. 

Or perhaps nowhere at all — 
Now wouldn't that be gall — Kiser Khan? 

An angel with red hair — -think of that — 
And candy-striped hose — rather fat — 

Clean gone upon a team — 

Rather spoony on ice-cream. 
And a daisy- — I should scream — at the bat. 

And if she were an anpel — don't you know? 
She'd shake me mighty sudden — aint it so? 

Then I would be bereft — 

Most beautifully left — 
With my gizzard shocking cleft — not for Joe! 



WELL, RATHER. 



To (iEO L. TAYLOR. 



I'D rather picnic on the porch, 
And croquet in the yard. 
With Susie Ann or Liza Jane 
To be my playing pard. 



WELL, RA THER. 22g 

Than go to any fishing place 

On Independence Day, 
And fight big flies and nasty gnats, 

And swear my soul away. 

I'd rather kill my gnawing greed 

Before a home-spread feast, 
Than take a chance of broken bones 

Behind a livery beast; 
To ride ten miles through heat and dust. 

And very nearly die, 
Just for the sticky privilege 

Of sitting in a pie. 

I'd rather spend the day at home 

With little ones and wife. 
And take a modicum of rest. 

And lead a decent life, 
Than go a-camping anywhere, 

And soak myself in rain, 
Arid limp to town that blasted night. 

Racked with rheumatic pain. 



EPIGRAMS. 



ii, 7\ ^^^^^ ^i^l show," said Lida Jane, 
^^^ "Which way the zephyr blows." 

"Also," said Tim O'Featherlane, 
"Which way the julep goes." 



"What is a sigh?" she softly sang. 

In poet's frenzied rot. 
"Ace high," when nary pair is out. 

Will simply scoop the pot. 



They were sitting on the window-sill; 
The night was balmy, clear and still, 
When something I don't know about 
Occurred, alas, and they fell out. 

Ah! she was angry too, I wot. 
For 'twas a savage bump she got, 
And as she fell, her golden hair 
Caught in a tree and dangled there. 



EPIGRAMS. 231 

He saved the locks, but mild surprise 
With sadness mingled in his eyes, 
And she has lost her warm adorer. 
Since now he's but her hair restorer. 



With a beard like Rip Van Winkle, 
And a pair of eyes that twinkle 

If you drop but a nickel in his palm ; 
And he thanks you most sincerely, 
And overwhelms you, nearly. 

With his blessings and his rich, blarney balm. 

He says he fought with Kearney, 
And is on his homeward journey 

From the bloody fields of war and the camp. 
He has told his little story 
Till his head and yarn are hoary, 

And novv he thinks it true, the aged tramp. 



,'It was a most unvarying rule. 
That all the boys in our school 
Who came from blooded stock. 



232 



HUMOROUS RHYMES. 



Were ever dull," quoth Parvenu. 
"Then one w^ould guess," said Grin, "that you 
Were never on the dunce's block." 



"I have some tenderlines," he said, 
"Inscribed to my latest mash." 

The night fiend read the stunning head. 
And vowed that they were "hash." 





|tie most popular TFanscontinental \^m. 



S. B. JONES, 

Asst. Gen. Pass. Agent, 

Omaha, Neb. 



J. W. MORSE, 

Cen. Passenger Agent, 

Omaha, Neb. 




THE 



Has a System of Fast Train communication be- 
tween the Seaboard, the Great Lakes and the 
Mississippi, nnparalelled in Excellence. The 

Is simply beyond comparison, and its Motive Power 
is the admiration of the foremost authorities on 
mechanism of the age. In point of 

Hatural Attractions, 

The Baltimore and Ohio is without a rival, having 
long been accorded the proud distinction of being 

Tiie piGtDPesque Line or Amenea. 



. J. C. PANCBORN, 
Ass't Cen. Passenger Agent, 

Baltimore, Md. 



C. K. LORD, 

Cen. Passenger Agent, 

Baltimore, Md. 



THE 



Is the Principal Line 



TO 





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^lani 



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And otner important Eastern Cities, and the only Line running 
THROUGH CARS BETWEEN 

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Direct Gonnectioii at gt. Paul for gt. Louis ^ Chicago. 

PACIFIC COAST CONNECTIONS VIA 

Qpepn Sliopt Line ^ NoFthern pacifie. 

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